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THE   KING  OF  THE   BRONCOS 


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THE 


KING    OF    THE     BRONCOS 


Other  Stones  of  New  Mexico 


BY 

CHARLES  F.   LUMMIS 


NEW  YORK 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


COPYRIGHT,  1897,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


J.  S.  Gushing  &  Co.  -  Berwick  &  Smith 
Norwood  Mm.  U.S.A. 


TO 

A    BETTER    MAN 


CONTENTS 


PA6K 

THE  KING  OF  THE  BRONCOS 1 

BOGGED  DOWN 35 

THE  BITE  OF  THE  PICHU-CUATE 53 

POH-HLAIK,    THE    CAVE-BOY 73 

THE  JAWBONE  TELEGRAPH 95 

A  PENITENTS  FLOWER-POT 115 

BRAVO'S  DAT  OFF 131 

BONIFACIO'S  HORSE-THIEF 149 

GREEN'S  BEAR-TRAP 165 

MY  SMALLEST  SITTER 177 

OUR  WORST  SNAKE 187 

KELLEY'S  GROUND-SLUICE 199 

THE  OLD  SHARPE 215 

MY  FRIEND  WILL 231 

vii 


LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

FACING   PAGE 

PORTRAIT  —  CHARLES  F.  LUMMIS      .        .      Frontispiece 
"WE  SAW  HIM  DROP  THE  REIN  AND  STRAIGHTEN".         .       32 

"HE  HELD  HIS  HAND  ARM'S  LENGTH  BEFORE  HIM,  AND 

PULLED  THE  TRIGGER5' 70 

"ALREADY  HER   HEAD  AND   SHOULDERS   WERE   THROUGH 

THE  DOOR" 92 

"  HE  CLUTCHED  A  HAND-RAIL  AND  SWUNG  HIMSELF  ABOARD 

THE  LAST  CAR" 110 

"'COME,  THERE'S  A  GOOD  DOG'" 134 

"  BONIFACIO  FAIRLY  FLEW  DOWN  THE  STREET  "       .        .     156 
"  SWINGING    THE    HEAVY    RIFLE    ABOVE    MY    HEAD,    I 

DASHED    IT    IN   HIS   FACE  " 228 

"  So    THE    ONE-ARMED   JEHU    HAD    TO    DRAG    TO    THE    BANK 

THE    THREE    TWO-HUNDRED-POUND    SACKS    OF    CORN"     .       244 


THE  KING  OF  THE  BRONCOS 


THE  KING  OF  THE  BRONCOS 


So!  There  was,  then,  a  horse  in  the  world  that 
could  run  faster  than  Jovero  ? l  Impossible!  And 
yet,  there  you  were!  The  lips  of  Jovero's  rider 
suddenly  puckered  in  a  low  whistle,  and  the  vexed 
ridges  in  his  brow  unbent  to  a  frown  of  wonder. 
Why,  next  thing  you  knew,  you  would  be  rinding 
some  one  braver  than  Don  Ireneo,  or  a  better 
wrestler  than  Cuate,  or  one  wiser  than  the  Padre 
Brun  himself,  who  could  run  clear  through  a  book 
and  never  once  stub  his  toe! 

These  were  revolutionary  thoughts;  and  Jovero's 
gait  was  not  conducive  to  thought  of  any  sort. 
His  small  ears  were  set  flat  back  to  his  head,  his 
neck  was  strained  forward,  his  nostrils  flared  like 
bells ;  and  as  he  thundered  on  it  was  evident 
enough  that  he  was  as  much  put  out  as  his  master 
by  yonder  impudent  runaway.  Though  Juan  no 
longer  sat  as  the  rider  sits  whose  heart  is  in  the 
chase,  Jovero  lunged  ahead  fiercely  as  ever.  He 
would  run  down  yon  upstart  on  his  own  hook,  or 
die  trying. 

1  Ho-vay-ro. 
3 


4  THE  KING  OF  THE  BRONCOS 

But  it  was  no  use  ;  and  Juan  felt  it.  He  turned 
his  wrist  a  trifle  in  the  rein,  and  settled  back 
against  the  cantle.  Jovero  flung  his  head  dis- 
respectfully, but  began  to  slow  up.  A  second 
later,  the  strange  horse  disappeared  behind  a  ridge 
two  hundred  yards  ahead;  and  Juan  turned  his 
unwilling  mount  back  to  the  south. 

"  Clearly,  it  will  be  a  most  extraordinary  beast!  " 
mused  the  oldest  man  about  the  adobe  fireplace 
that  evening,  when  Juan  had  rehearsed  his  advent- 
ure. "  For  if  a  man  had  told  me  there  could  be 
a  bronco  to  outrun  this  cojo  l  that  I  myself  roped 
from  the  wild  herd  eight  years  ago,  I  should  have 
laughed.  We  all  know  there  is  not  a  horse  ridden 
in  New  Mexico  that  can  catch  this  Jovero  ;  and 
if  there  is  a  wild  one  that  Jovero  cannot  catch, 
then  I  will  give  a  thousand  dollars  of  gold  to  the 
man  who  shall  lead  him  to  me  saddled  and 
bridled." 

"  Well  said,  Don  Bartolo  !  Of  a  truth,  the  horse 
that  could  gain  from  Jovero  would  be  worth  his 
weight  in  dollars.  But  it  is  not  I  that  shall  bring 
him  to  you.  Jovero  himself  is  more  swift  than 
my  old  bones  befit."  It  was  another  elderly  man 
who  spoke. 

"  And  he  that  looks  to  be  asleep  !  "  broke  in 
a  younger  one,  whose  frame  betokened  great 


,  "cripple." 


THE  KING  OF  THE  BRONCOS  5 

strength.  "I  have  tamed  many  rejiegos;1  but 
this  Jovero  —  well,  seeing  him  a  stranger,  I  would 
not  proffer  ten  dollars  for  him,  so  lean  and  drowsy 
is  he,  and  with  that  long  hoof.  But  knowing  him, 
I  would  give  for  him  all  the  herd  of  Manuelito, 
chief  of  the  Navajos  !  " 

"  So  Manuelito  himself  has  offered,  more  than 
once,"  answered  Don  Bartolo,  quietly.  "  But  I 
would  not  barter  Jovero  for  all  horses  that  go  on 
feet  —  with  yonder  bronco  thrown  in.  He  is  one 
of  the  family,  and  not  to  be  sold.  But  come, 
Juan,  wouldst  thou  know  thy  rejiego,  seeing  him 
again  ?  " 

"  How  not,  senor  ?  "  cried  the  boy,  earnestly. 
"  Among  ten  thousand  I  would  know  him  !  For 
did  I  not  come  face  to  face  with  him  on  the  trail 
to  Canon  Juan  Tafoya,  and  then  run  him  all  the 
thirty  miles  in  to  the  valley  of  Acebache  ?  A  pure 
black,  everywhere  —  but  upon  his  forehead  a  very 
star  of  white,  and  his  mane  and  tail  iron-gray,  the 
tail  to  the  ground  !  Ay,  but  he  is  not  to  be  mis- 
taken —  nobler  than  any  other,  with  his  head  up- 
lifted in  pride,  and  his  legs  like  the  legs  of  an 
antelope  for  slender  and  fine!  I  will  have  him 
if  I  die  for  it !  " 

"  It  is  well,"  smiled  Don  Bartolo.  In  his  day 
he  had  been  the  most  famous  rider  in  New  Mexico, 
and  even  yet  he  was  not  too  old  to  sympathize 

1  Re-hyay-gos,  a  New  Mexican  term  for  savage  horses. 


6  THE  KING  OF  THE  BEONCOS 

with  Juan.  Nay,  even  his  own  sober  blood  began 
to  prickle  at  what  he  had  just  heard  of  this  won- 
drous horse  —  a  horse  faster  than  Jovero  ! 

"  Remember,  then,  he  is  worth  a  thousand 
pesos,"  he  added.  "But  now  get  you  home, 
rogues,  for  it  is  very  night,  and  I  have  much  to 
talk  with  Don  'Colas." 

It  was  long  before  Juan  could  go  to  sleep.  The 
fall  winds  wailed  around  the  little  adobe  where  he 
and  his  mother  lived,  and  every  now  and  again  he 
seemed  to  hear  in  them  the  defiant  whinny  of  that 
matchless  wild  horse.  And  when  he  began  to 
dream,  he  saw  that  iron-gray  mane  and  tail  flout- 
ing the  wind,  and  heard  the  mad  tattoo  of  the 
black  hoofs. 

Not  catch  him  ?  He  had  to  be  caught !  His 
name  should  be  Lucero,1  "  Star  of  the  Morning," 
for  that  blaze  on  the  forehead  —  and  how  he  would 
dust  the  eyes  of  every  rival  on  San  Juan's  day ! 

At  three  of  the  morning  Don  Bartolo  was  wak- 
ened by  a  tap  at  his  window. 

"I  am  I,  sefior — Juan.  If  you  will  do  me  the 
favor  to  let  me  go  catch  that  bronco  now  ?  I  can- 
not go  to  sleep  for  thought  of  him." 

"  Bien  !  Go,  then  !  But  not  alone.  Take  also 
the  other  vaqueros  and  make  a  round-up  to  the 
corral  at  San  Miguel.  I  will  send  up  as  many  as 
can  be  spared  to  make  wings  to  the  trap.  But 

1  Loo-say-ro. 


THE  KING  OF  THE  BRONCOS  1 

much  eye,  if  thou  get  him  to  the  corral ;  for  a 
horse  swifter  than  Jovero  will  fight  as  well  as  he 
runs.  Luck,  then !  " 

Juan  had  worked  for  Don  Bartolo  ever  since  he 
was  big  enough  to  work  at  all,  which  was  not  a 
great  many  years.  When  his  father's  death  left 
him  alone  with  his  mother,  he  began  as  house-boy 
at  the  Rancho  San  Marcos,  and  being  a  lad  of  the 
wilderness,  who  knew  nature  and  danger  and  self- 
reliance,  he  had  risen  fast.  Now,  at  eighteen,  he 
was  youngest  of  the  dozen  vaqueros  of  the  big 
rancho,  and  confessedly  best — though  among  them 
were  such  men  as  Sivas  and  Sanchez  and  Romero. 
He  was  also  the  best  paid,  and  his  sixteen  dollars 
a  month  was  counted  princely.  Best  of  all,  he 
was  allowed  to  ride  Jovero,  the  old  don's  proud- 
est possession,  the  swiftest  horse  in  New  Mexico. 

By  four  A.M.  there  was  great  hauling  at  cinches 
and  clank  of  spurs  out  at  the  stable,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  the  score  of  riders  were  deploying  across 
the  plain  in  a  great  V,  of  whose  arms  one  pointed 
toward  El  Dado,  and  the  other  a  little  to  the  right 
of  Canon  Juan  Tafoya.  They  would  beat  up  the 
woods  and  canons  for  thirty  miles  on  a  side,  turn- 
ing whatever  wild  horses  they  might  find  into  the 
valley  of  San  Miguel,  and  there  round  them  into 
the  V-shaped  approach  to  the  corral. 

Juan  rode  as  on  pins.  His  eyes  swept  the 
mesas  and  valleys,  peered  into  every  thicket  of 
scrub-oak  and  behind  every  rocky  butte,  while 


8  THE  KING  OF  THE  BRONCOS 

his  ear  craned  eagerly  at  the  veriest  rustle  of  a 
chameleon  across  the  dry  leaves  of  the  chaparro. 
But  though  he  turned  many  wild  horses  toward 
the  left,  not  one  bore  the  faintest  resemblance  to 
that  matchless  black.  So  he  came  even  to  the 
sandstone  pillar  of  the  Zarcillo,  and  turned  dis- 
piritedly to  the  left,  heading  now  for  the  north  end 
of  the  San  Miguel  valley. 

Over  ridge  after  ridge  they  trotted,  ducking 
under  stubborn  branches  of  the  pinon,  catching 
glimpses  now  and  then  of  furtive  coyotes  —  and 
once  riding  almost  upon  a  big  black  bear,  which 
went  off  in  such  a  scurry  of  leaves  and  dust  that 
even  Juan's  anxious  face  cracked  with  a  smile. 

They  were  close  to  where  the  last  mesa  falls 
away  by  sprawling  slopes  to  the  valley  of  San 
Miguel  when  Jovero  flung  up  his  head  with  a 
snort ;  and  gathering  himself,  charged  into  and 
through  a  clump  of  scrub-oak.  Juan  flung  up 
both  elbows  to  protect  his  face,  but  the  crabbed 
twigs  raked  savagely.  There  was  a  great  crash- 
ing ahead,  and  as  they  came  into  the  open,  the 
merest  flash  of  a  big,  dark  body  up  and  out  and 
gone. 

Juan  shut  his  teeth.  There  was  no  time  to 
stop,  and  Jovero  had  no  notion  of  stopping.  If 
rejiegos  could  jump  off  the  rim-rock,  so  could  he. 
And  so  did  he ;  taking  the  ten-foot  fall  in  a  way 
that  was  a  wonder,  striking  on  the  shaly  slope 
with  a  tremendous  clatter,  staggering,  snapping  to 


THE  KING  OF  THE  BRONCOS 

his  feet  again,  and  off  down  the  headlong  hillside 
before  Juan  fairly  came  back  to  the  saddle.  No 
use  for  the  bit  now!  One  might  as  well  have 
tried  one's  bridle  hand  on  a  landslide! 

Juan  needed  no  introduction  to  this  mental 
infirmity  of  the  old  blaze-face.  He  had  come  out 
whole  from  several  such  stampedes  before,  more 
thanks  to  luck  than  to  Jovero ;  but  perfect  horse- 
man as  he  was,  his  face  paled  a  little  now. 

So  they  plunged  thunderous  down  the  bluff,  in 
.a  whirlwind  of  dust  and  sparks  and  flying  stones 
and  crackling  branches.  As  they  burst  into  a 
little  glade,  they  almost  fell  upon  the  great  wild 
stallion  at  right  angles.  He  lunged  forward 
mightily,  and  hurtled  down  the  ravine  with  Jovero 
at  his  heels ;  and  Juan,  paler  yet,  but  now  with 
eyes  afire,  jockeyed  far  forward  as  if  he  would 
fairly  lift  his  horse  and  hurl  it  upon  the  fugitive. 
There  was  no  room  to  use  the  "rope."  The  draw 
was  no  more  than  a  smooth  gully,  its  steep  banks 
hedged  with  a  tangle  of  scrub-oaks  and  pinons. 
Nothing  for  it  but  a  stern  chase  again,  until  they 
should  come  out  to  elbow-room.  Juan  had  the 
reata  unknotted  from  his  saddle-horn  and  held  it 
ready  to  run  out  the  noose.  The  reins  danced 
and  swung  on  Jovero's  neck,  who  needed  no 
bridle  now.  No  one  could  tell  this  veteran  of  the 
round-up  anything  of  the  arts  of  the  chase  —  nor 
was  Juan  of  the  riders  who  need  reins  to  keep 
them  from  falling  off. 


10  THE  KING   OF  THE  BRONCOS 

For  a  mile  the  pursuit  roared  down  the  draw. 
Then,  around  a  turn,  they  whisked  into  full  view 
of  the  valley.  Here  was  room  —  and  dividing  the 
coil,  Juan  flung  his  right  arm  aloft,  and  set  the 
long  loop  to  circling  about  his  head. 

But  at  that  strange  sight  the  wild  stallion  found 
new  wings.  The  dozen  feet  between  his  tail  and 
Jovero's  nose  spun  to  twenty  in  two  leaps,  and 
thirty  in  a  breath.  Juan  stood  in  the  stirrups 
and  threw  desperately  before  he  had  half  the 
swing  of  the  rope,  but  the  noose  fell  only  across 
those  black  withers,  and  slid  off  and  was  trailing 
far  behind  in  the  time  you  might  wink  an  eye. 

"  Plagues  !  "  groaned  the  vaquero,  for  the  first 
time  laying  spur  to  Jovero's  ribs,  while  he  jerked 
in  the  rope  with  swift  coils.  "  Here  is  the  place 
to  lose  him  !  For  how  can  I  turn  him,  if  he  takes 
for  Acebache  ?  " 

And  indeed  the  black  swerved  to  the  right  and 
dashed  up  the  swale — and  then  swerved  back 
and  went  flying  down  the  valley.  For  just  over 
yonder  came  Sivas  and  Chico,  snatching  their 
reatas  and  striking  spur  and  raising  a  yell  of 
exultation. 

Hemmed  by  them  on  the  right,  and  on  the  left 
by  Juan,  who  had  improved  his  instant  to  "cut 
in,"  the  black  sped  down  the  plain.  And  yonder 
comes  Sanchez  on  the  jump ;  and  there  is  Romero  ; 
and  on  this  side  Ciriaco  and  his  pock-marked  son 
emerge  from  a  lower  draw  and  take  up  the  chase. 


THE  KING  OF  THE  BRONCOS  11 

And  now  on  each  side  are  footmen,  springing 
from  behind  rock  or  bush,  waving  their  blankets 
and  yelling  at  the  top  of  their  lungs. 

So,  fairly  before  he  has  time  to  notice  what  is 
ahead,  the  black  is  suddenly  aware  of  two  long 
lines  of  sticks  —  some  standing  up  as  sticks  ought, 
but  some  lying  across  them  as  he  is  sure  wood 
never  grew  before.  There  must  be  something 
wrong  here  ! 

He  stiffens  his  knees,  and  tries  to  stop  and  turn  ; 
but  the  Philistines  are  upon  him.  He  wheels 
again  and  plunges  blindly  forward  in  a  panic  of 
other  wild  horses.  They  wedge  through  a  narrow 
pass,  and  halt,  snorting,  or  dash  madly  about,  butt- 
ing against  the  solid  pinon  trunks  set  deep  in  the 
ground  and  lashed  together  at  the  top  with  raw- 
hide thongs.  They  turn  to  the  entrance  again  ; 
but  there  is  a  huddle  of  grimy  horsemen,  swing- 
ing strange,  snaky  loops  —  and  now  a  fellow 
runs  heavy  bars  across  the  gap.  The  broncos 
are  penned  ! 

The  lathered  "cow-ponies,"  with  loosened 
cinches,  and  reins  pulled  forward  over  their  heads, 
were  turned  out  to  graze  the  scant  tufts  of 
grama.  The  vaqueros  were  running  out  their 
reatas  and  handling  the  loops.  As  they  clambered 
here  and  there  to  the  top  of  the  stockade,  Don 
Bartolo  rode  along  on  his  big  bay  Pelayo. 

"  Care,  then  !  "  he  cried.     "  Rope  what  you  will, 


12  THE  KING  OF  THE  BRONCOS 

but  not  the  black.  It  is  Juan  that  is  for  him ;  " 
and  coming  to  the  lad  he  laid  a  hand  on  his 
shoulder,  and  said,  in  a  tone  one  seldom  heard 
from  cool  Don  Bartolo  : 

"A  thousand?  He  is  worth  ten  thousand! 
Never  have  I  seen  his  peer,  nor  a  nobler  chase 
than  thou  gavest  him  !  Poor  little  Jovero !  how 
he  toiled  in  vain  after  that  miracle  of  a  beast! 
But  now,  cuidado !  Yonder  is  no  child's  play. 
It  is  better  thou  rest,  first." 

"  For  a  favor,  senor !  I  am  rested  !  Let  me 
have  it  out  with  him  !  "  and  scarcely  waiting  for 
Don  Bartolo's  deprecatory  shrug,  the  young 
vaquero  vaulted  to  the  top  of  the  fence  with  his 
coil  of  plaited  rawhide. 

The  broncos  were  milling  round  and  round  in 
the  corral ;  now  lunging  against  the  stout  stock- 
ade till  it  creaked  and  sprung,  now  rearing  and 
trampling  one  another,  as  some  vaquero  swung  a 
tentative  noose. 

"  Send  me  them !  "  shouted  Juan,  his  loop  sail- 
ing lazily.  The  crush  of  frenzied  animals  swung 
past ;  and  with  a  dextrous  throw  at  thirty  feet  he 
dropped  the  noose  squarely  over  the  stallion's  head 
—  in  the  same  breath  stooping  to  take  a  double 
turn  around  a  strong  post. 

The  rawhide  rope  went  taut,  lengthened  visibly, 
and  twanged  like  a  fiddle-string.  The  black  horse 
leaped,  reared,  and  fell  backward  with  the  spring 
of  the  reata.  Eager  hands  were  already  tugging 


THE  KING   OF  THE  BRONCOS  13 

at  the  bars ;  and  in  a  moment  the  broncos  were 
stampeding  out  of  the  corral  and  off  up  the  valley 
like  scared  shadows  —  all  but  the  big  black  and  a 
beautiful  sorrel  which  Sivas  had  lassoed  for  his 
own  breaking. 

Now  Sanchez  got  his  noose  over  the  black's 
head,  and  Romero  snared  a  hind  leg.  Juan  leaped 
down,  loosening  his  rope  and  slackening  it  on  the 
bronco's  neck.  The  choked  animal  caught  a 
great  breath,  and  staggered  to  its  feet.  Then, 
realizing  the  presence  of  its  enemies  again,  it  bolted 
around  the  enclosure,  dragging  the  three  vaqueros, 
and  kicking  furiously  with  the  leg  strung  up  by 
Romero,  then  with  the  other,  then  with  both  at 
once  —  until  the  nooses  tightening  on  its  throat 
threw  it  a  full  somersault. 

Another  slacking  of  the  ropes,  another  dragging 
contest,  another  fall,  and  then  the  same  programme 
over  again.  Now,  when  the  stallion  rose,  he  stood 
still  and  trembled.  Clearly,  he  was  learning  what 
those  ropes  meant. 

"  To  get  him  out  now  !  "  grunted  Juan,  breath- 
lessly. It  took  half  an  hour's  hard  fighting,  but  at 
last  the  vaqueros  and  their  prize  were  safely  out- 
side the  corral.  Here  they  threw  him  again,  and 
braced  back  on  the  reatas  while  Don  Bartolo  him- 
self ran  in,  put  on  the  jdquima1 — the  bitless  bridle 
for  breaking  horses,  —  and  tied  his  big  bandanna 
over  the  staring  eyes. 

1  H^-kee-ma. 


14  THE  KING  OF  THE  BEONCOS 

Then  they  eased  the  ropes.  The  stallion  lay  for 
a  moment,  groaning  dismally.  Then  he  struggled 
to  his  feet  and  stood  with  that  pitiful  air  of  the 
blind.  Ciriaco  laid  two  heavy  Navajo  blankets 
across  the  lathered  back  gently,  gently,  and  with 
infinite  caution  lifted  the  heavy  saddle  upon  them. 
At  each  touch  the  wild  horse  shivered,  but  he  stood 
in  his  tracks.  It  is  wonderful  how  much  the 
courage  even  of  the  wildest  beast  depends  upon 
sight ;  and  how  a  flimsy  cloth  made  into  a  blind- 
fold is  stronger  than  a  dozen  ropes.  Even  when 
Juan  put  knee  to  that  heaving  side,  and  tugged 
at  the  cinch  with  all  his  power,  the  horse  only 
staggered  and  trembled. 

It  was  a  little  too  much,  indeed,  when  Juan 
vaulted  to  the  saddle ;  the  bronco  plunged  for- 
ward madly  —  but,  unable  to  see,  he  went  to  his 
knees,  scrambled  up  again,  and  groaned  a  groan 
that  was  almost  human. 

The  reatas  were  cast  off,  and  the  bystanders  got 
to  a  distance.  Juan  shook  his  feet  in  the  stirrups, 
gathered  the  rein  firmly,  and  patted  the  black, 
arched  neck.  "  It  is  thy  friend,  my  Lucero  !  "  he 
said  soothingly ;  and  reaching  forward  between 
the  small,  tremulous  ears,  he  pulled  the  blindfold 
up,  without  untying  it  from  the  jdquima. 

I  have  broken  a  good  many  broncos  and  ridden 
a  good  many  South  American  earthquakes;  and  as 
between  the  two,  my  word  for  it,  the  earthquake 
is  a  drowsy  mode  of  motion.  It  is  more  terrifying, 


THE  KING  OF  THE  BRONCOS  15 

indeed,  to  waken  and  see  the  stone-arched  roof 
over  your  bed  yawn  and  let  in  the  stars ;  and  to 
have  the  pavement  surge  under  you,  like  an  ocean 
swell,  so  violently  that  it  is  impossible  to  stand. 
But  as  for  motion  —  well,  the  earthquake  that  will 
raze  a  city  to  the  ground  in  three  minutes  is  a 
rocking  chair  compared  to  a  bucking  bronco.  Did 
you  ever  see  a  horse  really  buck  ?  I  do  not  mean 
the  cheap,  made-to-order  counterfeit  seen  in  Wild 
West  shows,  nor  the  amateur  work  of  Eastern 
unbroken  colts.  The  meanness  or  the  kittenish- 
ness  of  horses  born  and  bred  in  barns  and  among 
people  may  sometimes  be  troublesome,  but  a  real 
"bronco-buster"  would  merely  smile  at  them. 
They  are  as  little  like  the  savage  terror  and 
rage  of  the  powerful  wild  beast  that  never  saw 
man,  house,  nor  rope  till  an  hour  ago,  as  a  naughty 
primary  schoolboy  is  like  an  Apache  on  the  war- 
path. And  if  you  ever  see  the  real  thing,  you 
will  find  it  a  fascinating  spectacle,  indeed,  but  a 
rather  terrible  one. 

In  the  instant  that  the  blind  cleared  his  eyes, 
the  stallion  made  a  bound  of  fifteen  feet,  and 
"  gathered  "  like  a  puma  for  another  and  another, 
each  longer  than  the  one  before.  At  the  third  he 
came  down  with  his  fore  legs  like  bars  of  steel, 
snapping  Juan  forward  till  he  split  his  lips  on 
that  bent  neck.  In  the  same  breath,  the  black 
head  went  down  between  the  slender  legs,  and 
horse  and  rider  shot  eight  feet  into  the  air.  They 


16  THE  KING   OF  THE  BRONCOS 

came  down  with  a  stiff -legged  jolt  that  flung  Juan 
up  the  full  length  of  the  stirrup-straps.  He  came 
back  to  the  saddle  like  a  return-ball,  even  as  they 
went  up  again ;  and  clenched  the  saddle-horn 
with  his  left  hand  and  drummed  his  heels  against 
those  reeking  ribs,  and  tugged  so  mightily  upon 
the  rein  that  the  stubborn  head  could  no  longer 
get  between  the  knees  —  which  meant  the  end  of 
effective  bucking. 

Off  went  the  stallion  like  a  thunderbolt,  "  pitch- 
ing "  at  every  other  jump,  and  at  every  jump  kick- 
ing out  behind.  Across  the  broad  valley  he  raved, 
now  jumping,  now  striking,  now  biting  savagely 
back  at  his  terrifying  burden.  Then  he  reared 
and  flung  himself  mightily  backward,  to  crush 
this  awful  forked  beast.  But  Juan  was  no  green- 
horn. When  that  muscular  back  smote  upon  the 
earth,  Juan's  feet  were  on  the  ground  off  at  the 
safe  side,  and  one  hand  was  on  the  saddle-horn 
and  one  gripped  the  flowing  mane. 

As  the  maddened  creature  sprang  up  again,  its 
impetus  —  along  with  the  snap  in  Juan's  legs  — 
lifted  the  rider  far  up,  and  he  dropped  back  into 
the  saddle,  sure  as  a  bullet  to  its  mark. 

If  the  bronco  was  terrified  before,  he  was  frantic 
now.  Too  crazed  to  buck  or  kick  longer,  he  went 
up  the  valley  like  a  whirlwind. 

A  straggly  juniper  was  just  yonder ;  and  tow- 
ard it  he  lunged,  with  a  sudden  inspiration. 
A  big,  twisted  limb  grazed  his  flattened  neck,  and 


THE  KING   OF  THE  BRONCOS  17 

caught  the  saddle-horn,  and  split  the  saddle-tree 
from  end  to  end ;  and  left  upon  the  ground  a  boy 
sprawled  motionless  across  a  wreck  of  wood  and 
leather,  down  one  flap  of  which  a  crimson  rivulet 
began  to  trickle. 

II 

It  was  Don  Bartolo  himself  who  sprang  from 
Jovero's  back,  and  knelt  by  the  wreck  a  full  min- 
ute before  the  swiftest  of  the  others  came  up. 
Juan  was  already  reviving ;  and  soon  he  sat  up. 
The  gash  on  his  head  would  be  painful  for  some 
weeks  ;  but  that  was  no  great  matter. 

"And  my  Lucero?  Where  is  he?"  the  boy 
stammered.  "  For  but  just  now  I  had  him  —  and 
surely  he  did  not  shake  me  off." 

"  No,  he  took  the  tree  and  wiped  thee  off,"  said 
the  don,  kindly.  "And  so  he  would  have  done 
with  any  other.  Snails !  But  he  fights  like  a 
demon  —  even  Jovero  never  bucked  so  high,  when 
I  was  gentling  him !  But  here  are  the  men.  To 
the  house  with  him,  to  mend  this  cracked  head." 

But  Juan  got  to  his  feet,  wavering  a  little  and 
ashen  in  the  face,  but  with  Juan's  own  steady, 
steel-gray  eyes  once  more. 

"  If  you  will  only  let  me,  sefior  !  It  is  nothing 
—  see,  already  I  am  strong!  Let  me  get  this 
picaro  while  still  he  is  tired  —  for  so  there  is  some 
chance.  As  for  Jovero,  he  is  already  new  again." 


18  THE  KING   OF  THE  BEONCOS 

Indeed,  the  old  blaze-face  —  with  the  wonderful 
wiriness  of  his  Arab  blood — had  in  the  two  hours 
at  the  corral  quite  lost  all  trace  of  his  tremendous 
run.  Here  he  stood  like  a  sleepyhead,  ears  droop- 
ing, his  hide  already  smooth  again,  his  sides  rest- 
ful, and  his  one  deformity,  that  left  fore  hoof, 
twice  the  length  of  its  mate  (the  result  of  some 
accident  in  colthood)  carelessly  tilted.  To  look 
at  him,  one  would  never  dream  that  he  had  known 
—  or  ever  could  know  —  the  generous  pulse  of  a 
desperate  race. 

Don  Bartolo  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  As  thou 
wilt,"  he  said  dryly.  "  Thou'rt  old  enough  to 
answer  for  thyself,  for  foolish  though  it  be."  But 
in  his  heart  he  remembered  when  another  boy  of 
eighteen  would  have  been  quite  as  foolish. 

Juan  waited  for  no  more.  Flinging  upon 
Jovero's  back  the  stout  saddle  of  Sivas,  and 
swinging  himself  stiffly  up,  he  caught  the  reata 
Ciriaco  tossed,  and  with  a  nod  and  a  lift  of  the 
rein  went  loping  up  the  valley.  Don  Bartolo  rode 
home  on  Ciriaco's  horse,  and  Ciriaco  behind  Sivas, 
bareback. 

Juan's  eyes  were  with  the  ground  as  he  loped 
along  at  that  wavelike  gait  which  I  believe  was 
never  quite  so  perfect  in  any  other  horse  —  for  I, 
too,  have  ridden  Jovero,  many  a  hundred  league, 
and  marvelled  at  him  and  loved  him  as  did  every 
man  that  ever  threw  leg  across  his  back. 

Ha  !     There  at  last  —  it  must  be  the  stallion's 


THE  KING  OF  THE  BRONCOS  19 

footprint !  There  were  a  thousand  other  tracks 
across  the  dry,  red  sandstone  dust ;  but  here  was 
a  tag  of  the  bridle,  caught  and  snapped  under 
those  flying  feet !  The  lad  dismounted  and  pored 
over  that  special  hoof-print  with  all  his  eyes. 
Hm  !  Now  he  would  know  it  anywhere  —  and 
springing  to  the  saddle  not  half  so  sorely,  he  fil- 
liped the  rein,  and  off  they  went. 

Sometimes  the  trail  was  baffling,  and  had  to  be 
studied  out  slowly  from  the  maze  of  other  tracks ; 
but,  as  a  rule,  he  rode  straight  on.  When  night 
closed  in,  he  was  among  the  coal-seamed  mesas 
back  of  Acebache  ;  and  by  the  little  spring  of  the 
Ojo  del  Pajaro1  he  stretched  the  scant  saddle- 
blankets  for  a  bed  and  the  saddle  for  a  pillow, 
staked  out  Jovero  where  the  dry  grama  was 
least  thin,  and,  supperless  and  aching,  cuddled 
to  sleep. 

With  dawn  he  was  in  the  saddle  again  —  very 
stiff  now,  and  faint  with  fatigue  and  hunger. 
But  at  five  miles  from  the  spring,  he  began  to 
hang  forward  on  Jovero's  neck,  scanning  the  trail 
with  a  close  wrinkle  in  his  brow.  Como  ?  So  far 
the  black  had  been  running  madly ;  but  now  — 
what  could  it  mean,  that  the  swift  footprints  had 
suddenly  become  wavering,  unsure,  one  might 
almost  say  reeling  ? 

All  at  once  Juan  straightened  up  with  a  glad 

1  Pd-ha-ro,  "Bird's-eye  Spring,"  or  "Bird  spring." 


20  THE  KING  OF  THE  BRONCOS 

cry.  Now  he  understood  the  secret"  of  these 
strangely  zigzag,  uncertain  tracks  !  And  forget- 
ting weariness,  hunger,  and  pain,  he  nudged  Jo- 
vero  with  his  knees,  and  turned  the  corner  of  the 
mesa  at  a  dead  gallop. 

As  he  cleared  the  ridge  of  debris  and  saw  full- 
length  that  sheer,  noble  cliff  of  red  sandstone 
towering  five  hundred  feet  aloft,  he  whooped  a 
shrill,  exultant  whoop.  For  there,  under  a  little 
bay  of  the  cliff,  broadside  toward  him,  stood  the 
wild  black  stallion ! 

At  his  yell  it  threw  up  that  gallant  head  and 
snorted,  but  did  not  stir  from  its  tracks.  This 
wild  creature  which  had  fought  so  savagely  and 
fled  so  madly,  now  stood  trembling,  striking  the 
earth  with  one  angry  hoof,  with  ears  forward,  and 
teeth  shown  menacingly  —  but  after  all  with  a 
strange  air  of  helplessness. 

Even  when  Juan  rode  within  a  rod  and  tossed 
his  noose  over  that  proud  neck,  the  stallion  only 
shivered  and  stood  still.  For  —  you  must  have 
guessed  it  —  the  bandanna  had  slipped  down  from 
his  frontlet  in  that  mad  run,  and  was  again  a 
blindfold! 

"  Bravo,  handkerchief !  "  cried  Juan,  gayly,  tak- 
ing a  full  hitch  of  the  reata  around  his  saddle- 
horn  and  vaulting  to  the  ground.  "  Hold  him, 
then,  Jovero!  " 

Jovero  backed  off  just  far  enough  to  draw  the 
lasso  half -taut ;  and  setting  his  fore  legs  forward 


THE  KING  OF  THE  BMONCOS  21 

a  little  stiffly,  stood  with  one  lazy  eye  turned  on 
his  prize.  He  could  hold  a  wild  steer  so  —  as  any 
perfect  "cow-pony"  should  —  and  no  one  knew 
it  better  than  Jovero.  He  seemed  to  feel  that 
this  tiresome  rty'iego,  which  knew  no  more  than  to 
be  afraid  of  Juan,  and  show  a  day's  heels  to  its 
betters,  was  at  last  properly  come  up  with. 

As  for  its  getting  away,  Jovero  knew  better 
than  to  worry  about  that.  The  horn  of  a  "  Cali- 
fornia" saddle  is  one-tenth  the  size  of  a  horse's 
neck  ;  but  when  it  comes  to  a  dispute  between 
the  two,  it  is  neck  or  nothing  that  shall  break. 

"  8-s  !  'State  !  "  Juan  murmured  persuasively, 
patting  the  black  neck.  "There  is  no  care, 
Lucero  of  my  heart!  It  is  only  to  teach  thee  — 
and  then  thou'rt  better  set  than  running  between 
the  wolves  and  the  Navajos!  "  He  tightened  the 
blindfold,  knotted  the  broken  rein,  and  cautiously 
transferred  the  saddle  from  Jovero  to  the  stallion, 
which  only  trembled  and  groaned,  and  once  bit 
fiercely  back  at  its  captor. 

Juan  took  off  Jovero's  bridle  and  tied  it  short 
about  Jovero's  neck.  "  Vaya,  compadre ! "  he 
said.  "And  whatever  grass  thou  wilt  by  the 
way ! "  But  Jovero  stood  like  a  graven  image. 
Grass,  indeed!  Had  he  come  two  days  on  the 
trail  of  this  black  rascal,  just  to  trot  home  now 
and  not  see  the  fun?  Hardly  ! 

Now  the  young  vaquero  ran  a  half -hitch  of  the 
reata  around  the  bronco's  muzzle;  coiled  twenty 


22  THE  KING   OF  THE  BRONCOS 

feet  of  the  rope  in  his-  left  hand,  and  with  his  right 
held  the  final  coil  hard  around  his  hip.  Then 
with  a  switch  of  chaparro  he  poked  up  the  blind- 
fold, dropped  the  coil,  and  fell  back  on  the  rope, 
with  feet  braced  far  forward. 

The  wild  horse  leaped  mightily,  and  dragged 
Juan  a  rod  in  the  first  jump.  But  the  second 
was  not  quite  so  long ;  and  the  third  was  only  a 
few  feet.  The  tightening  of  the  noose  on  his 
nostrils  had  shut  off  his  wind,  and  he  suddenly 
halted. 

Juan  slacked  the  rope  and  then  sprang  back  as 
the  stallion  made  another  plunge  —  this  time  a 
short  one  and  one  only.  Again  Juan  eased  up ; 
and  this  time  the  bronco  reared  and  tried  to  fall 
backward.  But  the  result  was  the  same  —  what- 
ever he  did,  that  strange  and  terrible  forked  creat- 
ure out  yonder  stopped  his  breathing. 

A  wild  horse  is  no  great  fool ;  and  in  half  an 
hour  Juan  could  edge  up  and  rub  the  black  muzzle 
—  always  coming  sidewise  and  with  the  reata  held 
hard  along  the  small  of  his  back.  There  is  no 
other  trick  so  sure  to  teach  a  wild  horse  your 
mastery.  Of  all  that  I  have  ever  broken,  and 
loved,  and  taught  to  love  me,  I  have  never  struck 
one  and  never  spurred  one.  That  light  rope 
around  the  nose  was  the  chief  argument  every 
time. 

"Well  taught!"  said  Juan  at  last,  breathing 
hard.  And  when  next  he  had  edged  to  the 


THE  KING   OF  THE  BRONCOS  23 

bronco's  head,  he  sprang  and  pulled  down  the 
blindfold.  The  stallion  reared,  came  back  to  his 
feet,  and  stood  helpless,  while  Juan  tightened  the 
cinch  and  vaulted  to  the  saddle.  This  time  he 
held  the  rein  in  his  left  hand,  and  in  his  right  the 
nose-rope.  The  lifting  of  the  blind  was  signal  for 
another  round  of  bucking ;  but  it  was  wonderful 
how  soon  a  fair  tug  on  the  nose-rope  quieted  all 
that. 

Before  the  overhead  sun  began  to  tip  their 
shadows  toward  the  east,  old  Jovero  was  plodding 
soberly  down  the  canon  on  his  own  hook ;  and 
behind  him,  in  nervous  acquiescence,  stepped  the 
weary  black.  Now  and  then  Jovero  would  look 
back  with  simulated  sleepiness,  or  hunch  a  threat- 
ening heel  if  the  stallion  came  too  close.  Well,  if 
Juan  preferred  to  ride  that  senseless  creature, 
which  didn't  know  a  saddle  from  a  sheepskin,  or 
a  round-up  from  monthly  mass  —  why,  the  worst 
was  his  own!  Certainly  it  would  not  become  a 
horse  of  reputation  to  find  fault! 

Ill 

Where  the  Canon  of  the  Heart  opens  into  the 
Canon  of  Jet  —  in  which  is  found  the  acebache, 
so  precious  to  the  Indians  for  amulets  and  orna- 
ments—  Juan  was  ruffled  at  sight  of  three  horse- 
men coming  toward  him  in  single  file.  Even  at  a 
half-league's  distance,  he  needed  no  glass  to  tell 


24  THE  KING   OF  THE  BRONCOS 

him  they  were  Navajos  —  that  was  plain  enough 
by  the  very  way  they  rode. 

As  they  came  nearer,  the  boy's  forehead  gath- 
ered deeper  wrinkles,  and  he  cast  furtive  glances 
up  and  down  the  canon.  No,  it  was  no  use  to 
run — even  with  a  horse  which  could  outstrip 
them  and  not  half  try.  At  the  upper  end,  as 
every  one  knows,  Acebache  Canon  is  "  boxed " 
and  impassable ;  and  here  it  was  choked  with 
talus  from  the  cliff,  all  but  the  narrow  bocas 
through  which  they  were  coming.  Nothing  for  it 
but  to  ride  forward  with  a  bold  face.  After  all, 
he  might  be  mistaken  —  and  if  these  were  not 
Chi  and  his  brothers  —  well,  there  was  no  special 
objection  to  any  other  Navajos.  And  even  these 
unhanged  renegades  —  who  lived  by  stealing  from 
the  Mexicans  and  selling  to  the  Navajos,  and  then 
stealing  from  the  Navajos  and  selling  to  the 
Mexicans  —  might  not  molest  him  so  near  the 
Willow  Springs  Ranch. 

But  his  heart  went  down  as  Chi  drew  up  across 
the  path,  his  Spencer  carbine  in  his  lap.  The  two 
others  were  armed,  also  ;  and  they  edged  past  and 
fell  in  a  couple  of  rods  behind. 

"  What  you  do  my  horse  ? "  demanded  Chi, 
menacingly,  in  broken  Spanish.  "Give  me!  " 

But  Juan  was  not  to  be  "  bluffed."  "  You  take 
me  for  one  innocent  ?  "  he  answered  dryly.  "  If 
this  your  horse,  where's  your  brand  ?  " 

"Not  mark  him,  but  much  mine.     Give!  "  and 


THE  KING   OF  THE  BRONCOS  25 

Chi,  dropping  his  role  of  injured  claimant,  returned 
to  the  easier  one  of  highwayman,  lifting  the  rifle 
to  his  shoulder. 

Juan  turned  a  little  paler,  but  retorted  tellingly: 
"  Stupid!  You  think  you  can  shoot  me,  and  then 
catch  this  rejiego  with  your  crow-callers  ?  Pero, 
he  would  be  halfway  to  Arizona  before  the  gun 
was  done  echoing!  " 

There  was  no  gainsaying  this ;  and  Chi  dropped 
the  rifle  across  his  knees  and  caught  up  the  reata. 
Juan  wheeled ;  but  the  way  was  narrow,  and 
the  noose  settled  upon  Lucero's  neck.  Chi  took 
a  double  turn  around  the  saddle-horn,  and  his 
brothers  spurred  forward  to  lasso  the  stallion 
also. 

Now  or  never,  Lucero!  The  lad's  face  suddenly 
flamed  up  like  a  torch.  He  struck  the  spurs  far 
under  and  lifted  the  rein.  The  big  black,  half- 
reconciled  for  the  time  to  some  things,  had  never 
felt  the  rowels  before;  and  he  fairly  soared  into 
the  air.  At  the  same  instant  a  powerful  twist  of 
the  rein  swerved  his  head  to  the  left  —  and  sure 
enough,  he  came  down  with  Chi's  reata  between 
his  fore  legs!  Juan's  inspiration  had  worked. 

An  instant  ago,  the  Navajo  could  have  broken 
Lucero's  neck;  but  now,  with  the  rope  under  his 
chest,  the  big  wild  horse  might  well  drag  those 
three  skinny  ponies  at  once,  like  so  many  strung 
grasshoppers. 

Juan  laughed  shrilly,  and  bent  away  forward 


26  THE  KING   OF  THE  ERONCOS 

and  touched  the  spurs  ;  and  the  gallant  black 
lunged  forward  like  an  avalanche.  Chi's  pony 
slid  faster  and  faster,  for  all  he  went  back  on  his 
haunches  like  the  tough  and  taught  little  tartar 
he  was. 

There  was  a  loud  squee-eech!  The  ragged  cinch 
had  snapped,  and  the  reata  flew  high  in  the  air 
with  the  saddle  at  its  end;  and  Chi  went  such  a 
string  of  somersaults  as  no  horse-thief  ever  turned 
before.  As  for  Juan  and  Lucero,  they  were  two 
hundred  yards  down  the  pass  before  the  two  other 
Navajos  could  fire  a  shot ;  and  when  they  did  fire, 
a  turn  in  the  trail  was  already  throwing  so  many 
great  rocks  behind  the  fugitives  that  shooting  was 
waste  of  lead.  Juan  touched  his  belt-knife  to  the 
dragging  reata;  and  it  and  the  bumping  saddle 
fell  behind;  and  side  by  side  Lucero,  the  wild 
horse,  and  Jovero,  the  long-hoof,  swept  down  the 
winding  canon. 

And  thus  they  came  at  sunset,  fifty  miles,  to  the 
long,  low  adobe  ranch-house;  and  all  the  vaqueros 
were  out  to  welcome  yonder  approaching  dust- 
cloud  ;  and  Pedro,  the  crippled  wood-chopper,  and 
Lupe,  the  cook,  and  Don  Bartolo,  with  all  his 
family.  Juan  swung  from  the  saddle,  holding  the 
nose-rope  —  though  really  Lucero  was  too  worn, 
now,  to  protest  even  against  these  new  terrors  — 
and  gasping  "Seiior!  Here  is  — "  fell  like  a  log 
at  Don  Bartolo's  feet. 


THE  KING   OF  THE  BRONCOS  27 

IV 

So  the  king  of  all  broncos  came  to  the  Rancho 
San  Marcos  ;  and  there  was  a  thousand  dollars  in 
the  Albuquerque  bank  to  the  credit  of  Juan 
Montoya ;  and  Don  Bartolo  was  the  proudest 
man  in  New  Mexico  — with  the  possible  exception 
of  Juan. 

Lucero  was  intelligent  as  he  was  beautiful,  and 
learned  swiftly,  as  a  fine  bronco  will.  In  a  week 
Juan  could  ride  him  up  to  the  very  door  ;  in  two, 
he  lifted  little  'Chona  to  the  saddle,  and  Lucero 
never  offered  to  jump  at  the  strange  flutter  of 
skirts.  In  a  month  he  would  follow  Juan  all  over 
the  pasture,  and  might  almost  have  been  trusted 
without  a  fence.  That  is  what  a  gentle  and  wise 
trainer  can  do  with  a  horse  that  but  the  other  day 
was  just  as  much  a  wild  beast  as  a  bear  is ;  and 
that  is  what  a  nervous  or  brutal  "breaker"  could 
never  do  in  the  world. 

"El  rey  de  los  broncos,"  they  called  Lucero  in 
the  village  of  San  Marcos  —  and  king  he  was,  not 
only  of  the  broncos,  but  among  the  thorough- 
breds of  the  few  wealthy  rancheros.  The  Arab 
blood  which  runs  in  all  genuine  "  wild  horses  "  of 
America  showed  in  the  small,  fine  head,  the  slen- 
der, clean-cut  legs,  the  splendid  arched  neck,  the 
sinewy,  compact  barrel.  And  when  Juan  exer- 
cised him,  even  in  that  land  of  horsemen,  every 
one  turned  to  watch  that  matchless  horse,  whose 


28  THE  KING  OF  THE  BRONCOS 

tattered  rider  sat  him  as  only  one  of  the  wilder- 
ness can  sit  a  horse,  and  who  looked  a  very  cava- 
lier, for  all  his  armor  of  shabby  jeans. 

I  remember  that  Don  Ygnacio  Luna  promptly 
sold  his  five-thousand-dollar  Hambletonian  for 
six  hundred  dollars  to  an  Arizona  banker  ;  and 
that  one  Lopez,  a  Chihuahuan,  who  hung  around 
with  a  race-horse  which  he  had  probably  stolen  in 
Mexico,  lost  small  time  in  moving  to  Socorro. 
What  was  the  use  ?  There  was  already  Jovero, 
a  neck  better  in  a  hundred  yards  than  any  other 
horse  in  New  Mexico  ;  and  now  was  come  this 
black  miracle  that  could  almost  run  around  Jo- 
vero !  Would  any  one  kindly  point  out  what 
business  any  common  horse  would  have  when  San 
Juan's  day  should  come  again  ? 

But  when  the  24th  of  June  did  come,  with  all 
its  gallant  rivalry,  and  the  very  centaurs  seemed 
abroad  again,  and  the  one  long,  wavering  street  of 
San  Marcos  volleyed  with  the  wild  tumult  of  the 
gallo  race,  it  was  Juan,  indeed,  who  first  plucked 
the  prize  from  the  sand,  and  longest  defended  it 
from  the  grappling  crowd.  But  his  mount  was 
a  blaze-faced  sorrel  with  one  long  hoof ;  and 
nowhere  among  the  two  hundred  wild  riders  was 
there  any  apparition  that  might  be  mistaken  for 
the  king  of  the  broncos. 

No,  there  is  no  mystery  about  it.  It  is  a  simple 
story,  and  it  is  many  years  ago,  now  ;  but  I  shall 


THE  KING   OF  THE  B  EON  COS  29 

never  forget  that  day,  nor  the  smallest  detail 
in  it. 

Lucero  was  down  in  the  alfalfa-patch  in  front  of 
the  house,  grazing  near  the  east  fence.  He  was 
very  gentle  now,  arid  knew  all  the  family  ;  but 
only  Juan  could  walk  in  and  bridle  him.  So, 
for  convenience'  sake,  he  wore  a  long  trail-rope ; 
and  even  little  'Chenta  could  overhaul  him  by 
that. 

I  was  a  cripple  at  that  time,  with  a  useless  arm  ; 
and  chanced,  on  the  morning  of  May  17,  to  be 
sunning  myself  on  the  porch,  plotting  against  the 
jack-rabbits  that  would  be  in  the  alfalfa  in  the 
edge  of  the  evening.  Sport  ?  I  should  think  ! 
Even  for  a  single-barrelled  invalid,  with  his  single- 
barrelled  gun ! 

But  just  then  the  evening  hunt  went  out  of  my 
mind.  Away  down  yonder  Lucero  was  plunging 
strangely,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  some  one  was 
pulling  up  to  him  on  the  trail-rope,  hand  over 
hand.  The  garden  fence  screened  the  figure,  and 
my  eyes  no  longer  count  noses  at  five  hundred 
yards  ;  but  —  well,  in  some  countries  it  is  better 
to  do  your  thinking  afterwards  ! 

"La drones!"  I  roared,  bursting  through  the 
house  and  into  the  courtyard.  "  They  are  steal- 
ing Lucero !  " 

In  three  minutes  every  man  of  the  rancho  was 
in  the  saddle.  Pedro  had  run  out  in  time  to  see 
Lucero  take  the  six-foot  fence ;  and  there  was  a 


30  THE  KING  OF  THE  BRONCOS 

man  on  his  back;  and  yonder  far  eddy  of  dust 
was  as  much  more  as  any  one  knew. 

Juan  was  first,  on  Jovero ;  and  next  behind 
were  Don  Bartolo  on  a  visitor's  thoroughbred, 
and  I  on  gallant  Pelayo ;  and  then  Ciriaco  and 
Sivas  and  the  rest  spurring  their  leaner  ponies. 
Every  man  was  armed;  and  Juan  carried  across 
his  knees  the  don's  new  Winchester.  I  am  glad 
for  the  boy's  sake  that  he  never  came  in  range. 

Thirty  miles  and  odd  the  chase  swept  on.  We 
had  easily  come  in  sight  of  the  horse-thief,  but 
now  he  meant  not  to  let  us  come  closer;  and  with 
that  horse  he  could  keep  his  distance  easily. 
Erect  and  careless  he  rode  the  bareback  stallion, 
while  we  jockeyed  far  forward  with  tense  faces. 

You  do  not  know  the  Morro  ?  But  Lucero  did ! 
The  wild  horses  of  New  Mexico  know  their  range 
almost  as  a  topographical  engineer  might ;  and  I 
am  sure  it  was  no  blunder. 

From  El  Dado  a  trail  leads  off  westward.  The 
landscape  there  is  like  a  succession  of  gigantic 
breakers  suddenly  turned  to  stone.  On  the  north 
the  earth-waves  swell  smoothly  up,  up,  till  they 
are  a  thousand  feet  high.  The  slope  is  perhaps 
ten  miles  long ;  but  on  the  south  the  mesa  breaks 
off  in  sudden  cliffs  down  to  the  natural  level 
again. 

The  trail,  gaining  the  crest,  winds  for  leagues 
along  that  lofty  brink ;  then  creeps  down  by  a 


THE  KING   OF  THE  BRONCOS  31 

pass  to  the  heart  of  the  Navajo  Reservation. 
Where  the  cliffs  are  highest,  a  great  columnar 
buttress  juts  forward  like  a  red  castle  on  this 
giant  bastion.  That  is  the  Morro. 

It  was  only  when  we  were  nearly  at  the  top  of 
the  mesa  that  we  came  almost  within  gunshot  of 
the  pursued.  For  an  instant  the  black  silhouette 
was  sharp  against  the  sky,  and  my  heart  suddenly 
tightened.  There  was  no  mistaking  that  figure  — 
it  was  Chi !  And  he  was  getting  his  revenge ! 
How  many  days  he  had  lain  about  in  the  brush, 
watching  the  rancho  and  biding  his  chance,  we 
are  unlikely  to  know  —  but  he  had  succeeded  ! 

Juan  evidently  recognized  him,  too ;  for  he 
yelled  a  yell  of  concentrated  rage,  and  flung  the 
rifle  to  his  shoulder,  but  dropped  it  again  and  set 
his  heels  to  poor  Jovero  with  a  wild,  shrill  whistle. 

At  that  familiar  sound  the  great  black  stallion 
turned  his  head  and  stumbled,  and  seemed  to  be 
wheeling.  Even  so,  against  the  spotless  sky-line 
we  saw  Chi  twist  the  rein  savagely,  and  with  his 
carbine  deal  Lucero  a  brutal  blow  along  the  head. 
The  horse  reared,  but  the  savage  spurs  met  him, 
and  the  carbine  was  clubbed  again. 

Mad  with  rage  and  shame  and  terror,  Lucero 
launched  forward  resistlessly.  Friendship  he  had 
learned,  and  mastery ;  but  insult  and  torture  were 
new  to  him.  From  that  moment  he  was  the  wild 
stallion  again. 

The   trail   stretched   far  and  yellow  along  the 


32  THE  KING   OF  THE  BRONCOS 

plateau.  Off  to  the  left  a  hundred  yards  or  so  we 
could  see  over  the  brink  to  the  valley  far  below ; 
and  a  little  ahead,  across  a  bay  in  the  cliff,  the 
blood-red  Morro  shone  through  the  junipers. 

Suddenly  there  was  an  indescribable  cry.  The 
trail  ahead  was  empty ;  but  across  the  flat  top  of 
the  Morro  fled  an  unmanageable  black  apparition. 
Nowadays,  when  I  say  "  destiny,"  that  is  the  pict- 
ure that  comes  back  to  me. 

And  Chi !  I  think  we  all  forgave  him  in  the 
one  flash.  A  renegade  among  his  people,  a  thief, 
a  murderer,  yet  he  was  no  cur  !  He  bestrode  that 
unsaddled  thunderbolt  like  a  very  king  of  the 
storm,  sawing  mightily  at  the  bit,  but  steadfast. 
Only  when  they  came  up  against  the  sky,  where 
the  rim-rock  stood  out  amid  the  blue,  and  his  last 
hope  was  gone,  we  saw  him  drop  the  rein  and 
straighten  superbly  stiff ;  his  black  hair  outblown, 
but  his  arms  folded  and  his  far-off  profile  clear 
and  stern  against  the  sky. 

Talk  of  cameos !  But  in  all  the  museums  of 
Europe  there  is  not  another  like  the  one  we  saw 
for  the  instant  —  a  sharp,  black  cameo  which 
looked  wondrous  tiny  when  it  was  all  cut  upon 
the  southern  blue,  and  no  longer  seemed  like  a 
moving  thing.  And  then  —  then  there  was  noth- 
ing but  the  blue ! 

No  horse  has  a  nobler  monument  than  the 
Morro.  As  for  Chi,  his  brother  renegades  took 


WE    SAW    HIM    DROP    THE    RF.1N    AND    STRAIGHTEN 


THE  KING   OF  THE  BRONCOS  83 

his  bones  away  to  the  Reservation,  more  for 
shame's  sake  than  for  love.  But  Lucero  was 
buried  as  we  would  have  buried  a  friend,  even 
there  where  he  found  his  freedom ;  where  the 
huddled  pifions  are  always  whispering  up  to  the 
tall  sentinel  cliff. 


BOGGED  DOWN 


BOGGED   DOWN 

THAT  always  was  a  treacherous  hole  in  the 
Agua  Azul  —  that  prettiest  shallow  in  all  the 
bluish  brook  whose  source  is  the  great  spring  that 
pours  from  under  the  edge  of  the  fifty-mile  lava- 
bed,  and  with  its  lower  course  half  lost  amid  the 
thirsty  sands  of  western  New  Mexico  —  reappear- 
ing only  now  and  then  in  disconnected  but  living 
pools.  This  particular  spot  was  a  few  miles  west 
from  the  Toltec  Cattle  Company's  "home  ranch" 
—  headquarters  of  the  score  of  cowboys  who 
"rode  the  range"  of  a  hundred  thousand  acres. 
There  was  a  long,  shallow  arroyo  down  the  middle 
of  the  valley,  and  in  it  a  series  of  pools  connected 
by  a  thin  trickle  of  water.  To  each  pool  a  deep, 
narrow  trail  in  the  turf  had  been  worn  by  the  daily 
processions  of  cattle  trudging  twenty  miles  to 
water. 

The  middle  and  largest  pool  was  broad,  shallow, 
clear,  with  a  foot  of  limpid  water  lying  mirror-like 
upon  its  bed  of  pretty,  yellow  sand.  It  was  the 
most  innocent-looking  shallow  in  the  world  ;  such 
a  place  as  would  tempt  children  to  wading  if  there 
had  been  children  within  twenty  miles — as  luckily 
37 


38  BOGGED  DOWN 

there  were  not.  One  wading  would  have  been  the 
last ;  for  that  sunny  pool  was  a  smiling  grave  that 
had  swallowed  up  more  victims  than  there  were 
inches  in  its  circumference  ! 

The  whole  brook  was  troublesome  to  the  cattle- 
men, for  in  its  marshy  edges  the  stock  was  con- 
tinually miring.  One  thick-chested  cowboy  on  a 
heavy  horse  had  no  other  duty  than  to  "  ride  the 
creek  "  for  twenty  miles,  to  watch  for  cattle  that 
had  "bogged  down,"  and  help  them  out  before 
they  perished.  Now  the  animals  seemed  to  have 
learned  that  that  particular  pool  was  to  be 
shunned ;  and  there  were  seldom  hoof -prints 
along  its  border.  But  it  had  been  costly  learn- 
ing. Within  a  week  after  the  company  took  the 
ranch  and  turned  in  cattle,  a  huge  black  bull,  the 
most  valuable  animal  in  the  great  herd,  tried  to 
cross  there ;  and  midway  of  the  pool  suddenly 
slumped  shoulder-deep.  In  five  minutes  he  had 
gone,  and  the  clear  water  rippled  innocently  as 
ever  over  its  yellow  bed.  In  the  eight  years 
since,  several  scores  of  cattle,  of  all  grades  and 
sizes,  had  been  similarly  engulfed  in  this  strange, 
automatic  graveyard.  Every  one  about  the  ranch 
knew  "  the  Cow  Trap ; "  and  in  crossing  the  creek 
of  dark  nights  all  were  very  careful  to  avoid  that 
pool. 

At  the  close  of  March  the  snow  still  lay  in 
patches  among  the  northern  cedars  of  the  Ventana. 
There  was  yet  no  green  blade  at  that  high  altitude. 


BOGGED  DOWN  39 

The  thin  cattle,  much  the  worse  for  wear  by  a  New 
Mexican  winter,  looked  in  sorry  trim.  For  six 
months  they  had  wandered  at  will,  unchecked  by 
fences  or  rivers.  Some  had  strayed  off  into  Ari- 
zona, and  some,  drifting  south  before  the  fierce 
storms,  were  down  in  the  Black  Range.  In  a  few 
weeks  the  cowboys  would  start  on  the  annual 
round-up. 

"  Tears  like  them  cattle's  thet  thin  yo'  kin  see 
the  brand  through  from  the  fur  side!  "  grumbled 
Baby  Bones  to  himself,  as  he  loped  easily  past  a 
tired  bunch  of  recumbent  cattle  on  his  shaggy 
bronco.  "  Et'll  shore  be  a  job  to  round  'em  up, 
'thout  we  ketch  a  bit  o'  new  grass  'fore  then." 
And  in  ruffled  humor  at  the  thought  the  young 
cowboy  loped  away  on  the  dim  trail  to  Cebollita, 
forty  miles  to  the  south. 

Baby  Bones  was  by  no  means  a  baby,  either  in 
mind  or  body;  and  Bones  was  a  name  which  cer- 
tainly did  not  figure  in  the  record-pages  of  the  old 
family  bible  away  back  on  the  lonely  Texas  ranch. 
But  when  this  tall,  ungainly,  dangling  youth 
had  first  shambled  into  the  TOO  ranch-house  in 
search  of  a  job,  wrinkled  Jim  had  shouted,  "  Wai, 
baby,  w'ere'd  yo'  git  them  bones?"  —  and  "Baby 
Bones  "  he  had  been  ever  since.  It  is  doubtful  if 
any  one  on  the  ranch  knew  his  true  name.  He  was 
plain  Baby  Bones  on  the  pay-roll,  and  in  conver- 
sation, and  to  his  face.  There  was  a  ludicrous 
aptness  in  the  title,  too  —  as  there  usually  is  with 


40  BOGGED  DOWN 

cowboy  nicknames.  His  head  was  very  small; 
and  his  thin,  freckled  face,  with  its  insignificant 
pug  nose,  small  mouth,  little  blue  eyes  without 
visible  brows  or  lashes,  and  a  general  mildness 
of  expression — all  gave  him  a  very  childish  look 
indeed.  He  was  nearly  six  feet  tall,  with  a  long, 
thin  neck,  narrow,  sloping  shoulders,  huge  wrists 
and  fists,  and  a  general  build,  as  old  Jim  said,  "  like 
a  two-futted  brandin'  iron."  But  Baby  Bones  was 
very  good-natured,  and  took  with  entire  compla- 
cency the  numerous  rough  jokes  upon  his  appear- 
ance. He  was  aware  he  "warn't  purty,  but  he 
knowed  cows  and  bronks  from  away  back."  There 
was  no  better  rider  or  roper  in  that  company  of 
experts ;  and  as  for  deeper  qualities,  "  the  boys  " 
had  generally  come  to  the  conclusion  that  "  thet 
Baby  hed  a  heap  o'  sand,  an'  lots  o'  savvy." 

It  was  partly  because  of  these  qualities  that  the 
foreman  had  selected  Baby  Bones  to  make  the 
rough  ride  to  Cebollita,  where  there  was  ticklish 
work  to  be  done.  There  were  rumors  from  the 
friendly  Pueblos  that  a  band  of  Mexican  "rus- 
tlers "  were  hiding  in  the  caves  at  that  end  of  the 
great  lava-bed  with  the  presumed  intention  of 
raiding  the  herds  of  the  T  C  C. 

One  man  could  best  spy  out  the  matter.  If  he 
confirmed  the  reports,  a  strong  squad  of  cowboys 
would  take  the  field  at  once  against  the  stock 
thieves. 

The  dangers  of  his  mission  did  not  seem  to 


BOGGED  DOWN  41 

weigh  upon  the  young  vaquero.  He  was  not 
more  than  eighteen  years  of  age;  but  all  those 
years  had  been  on  the  frontier,  and  they  had 
taught  him  a  great  many  rough  lessons.  Of 
course  if  the  rustlers  discovered  him,  they  would 
bushwhack  him  and  hide  his  body  in  some  gully; 
but  he  intended  to  keep  out  of  sight  —  to  "Injun 
on  'em  a  little,"  as  he  would  have  said.  If  it  did 
come  to  a  fight  —  why,  there  was  the  Winchester 
slung  along  the  saddle  and  the  heavy  six-shooter 
on  his  hip. 

So  he  rode  up  the  valley  toward  Cebollita, 
keeping  a  sharp  eye  to  the  great,  black,  con- 
torted swell  of  lava  on  his  right,  and  to  the 
cedar-dotted  slope  from  the  mesa  cliffs  on  his  left. 
But  there  was  nothing  suspicious  to  be  seen.  Now 
and  then  a  cotton-tail  scurried  into  the  fissures  of 
the  lava;  or  a  coyote,  with  drooping  brush,  trotted 
leisurely  out  of  gunshot.  After  the  first  few  miles 
from  the  creek  there  were  not  even  these;  and  the 
cowboy  grew  suspicious  at  seeing  nothing. 

"Wot's  up?"  he  puzzled.  "The  cattle  allus 
uses  in  here,  fur  the  grass  thet  sticks  along  the 
malpdis;  an'  I  cain't  see  wot's  got  'em  thet  the' 
hain't  nary  head  yere  to-day —  Oho!  "  He  sud- 
denly bent  over  from  the  saddle  to  glance  at  a 
faint  print  on  a  moist  spot  in  the  trail.  In 
another  instant  he  was  off  Tex's  back,  kneeling 
beside  the  telltale  marks.  Baby  Bones  had 
learned  trailing  from  the  Comanches;  and,  de- 


42  BOGGED  DOWN 

spite  his  youth,  was  noted  for  skill  in  that  diffi- 
cult science. 

"  So  !  "  he  muttered,  as  he  rose.  "  Thet  horse 
shore  never  was  shod  in  these  yere  parts.  Et's 
Chihuahua  work,  or  I  never  want  to  see  the  back 
o'  my  neck  !  An'  he  was  bein'  rode  tol'able  hard, 
too,  an'  them  tracks  is  to-day's  !  " 

As  he  remounted,  he  pulled  his  six-shooter  and 
turned  the  chambers  watchfully,  to  be  sure  that 
no  grit  had  got  into  the  bearings,  wiped  it  on  the 
sleeve  of  his  buckskin  coat,  and  then  saw  to  it 
that  the  rifle  in  its  scabbard  was  in  equally  trust- 
worthy trim. 

Tex  had  kept  up  his  tireless  lope  all  the  after- 
noon, but  now  the  rein  checked  him  to  a  slow 
trot,  and  frequently  stopped  him  altogether  as  the 
rider  looked  and  listened.  At  last  Baby  turned 
into  a  brown,  grassy  "  bay  "  in  the  lava.  Riding 
around  a  point,  he  staked  Tex  on  the  smooth 
turf,  and  hid  the  saddle  and  other  trappings  in 
a  crevice  of  the  rocks.  Here  the  horse  was  out 
of  sight  from  the  trail,  and  here  might  safely  be 
left.  The  sun  was  just  setting.  The  south  end 
of  the  lava-flow  was  not  more  than  three  miles 
away,  and  there  were  the  caves  which  were  sup- 
posed to  shelter  the  robbers. 

Baby  Bones  pulled  from  a  capacious  pocket  a 
crushed  lunch  of  frying-pan  bread  and  boiled 
beef,  and  devoured  it  hastily.  Then  he  mounted 
the  lava-ridge  and  began  to  walk  cautiously  across 


BOGGED  DOWN  43 

it.  On  that  fearful,  cutting  surface  the  heaviest 
boots  would  not  outlast  a  few  miles  ;  but  he  knew 
that  here  the  flow  was  narrow,  and  not  more  than 
a  mile  across.  It  was  best  to  approach  the  camp 
of  the  "  rustlers  "  from  the  west,  since  they  would 
look  for  no  danger  from  the  pathless  wilderness 
behind  them. 

He  stumbled  along  in  the  thickening  night,  now 
crawling  around  narrow  fissures  of  unknown  depth, 
now  falling  over  broken  lava-blocks,  now  resuming 
his  course  with  a  long,  ungainly  stride. 

As  he  reached  the  farther  edge  of  the  lava,  he 
paused  to  listen.  There  was  a  feeling  in  him  that 
he  heard  something.  He  laid  his  ear  to  the  rocky 
floor  to  listen  again,  but  could  make  out  nothing. 

After  a  moment,  he  straightened  up,  dissatisfied, 
clambered  from  the  lava-swell  to  the  ground,  and 
hurried  quietly  southward,  hugging  the  strange 
black  wall  that  loomed  above  him  in  the  dark- 
ness. But  even  yet  he  could  not  rid  himself  of 
the  impression  that  there  was  something  in  the 
air  —  something  too  tiny  for  the  ears  to  find, 
grope  as  they  would,  but  still  something  —  and 
at  last  he  climbed  again  to  the  top  of  the  malpdis, 
and  stood  listening.  At  first  there  was  nothing  ; 
but  presently  he  seemed  to  feel,  rather  than  to 
hear,  a  faint,  far-off  murmur  like  bees  in  swarm- 
ing-time.  Then  there  came  a  faint  whisper  of 
breeze  from  the  southeast;  and  on  it  was  a 
strange,  low  roll,  as  of  surf  on  a  distant  shore. 


44  BOGGED  DOWN 

So!  There  was  only  one  thing  in  the  world 
that  could  make  that  sound  there  —  it  was  the 
roll  of  many  hurrying  hoofs  over  the  dry  sward. 

"  (70W-SARN  'em  !  "  he  groaned  under  his  breath. 
"  Ef  they  hain't  gi'n  me  the  sack  to  hold  !  They 
shore  hev  rustled  up  a  big  bunch  o'  cattle,  an'  are 
goin'  to  run  'em  acrost  the  range  to-night  an'  up 
to  Utah !  An'  me  a-ketched  up  over  yer,  acrost 
the  malpdis  f rum  them  an'  Tex !  " 

He  ran  back  across  that  ugly  swell,  tearing  his 
boots,  cutting  his  feet  cruelly  on  the  jagged  points, 
but  never  thinking  of  the  pain  in  his  anger  at 
being  outwitted  and  his  anxiety  to  thwart  the  rob- 
bers —  just  how,  he  had  now  no  clear  idea.  The 
muffled  tattoo  of  hoofs  was  nearer  and  louder  now, 
and  he  could  even  hear  occasional  calls  in  Spanish. 
The  thieves  were  running  the  cattle  up  the  trail  by 
which  he  had  come,  and  running  them  hard.  Soon 
they  had  passed,  and  the  trampling  roar  began  to 
sink  and  sink  as  the  herd  drew  off  into  the  distance. 

"  Good  land  !  "  the  cowboy  groaned.  "  I  'llow 
the'  mus'  be  two  hundred  head  !  An'  ef  the'  ain't 
hosses  in  the  bunch,  too,  yo'  can  call  my  ears  a 
fool.  I'll  bet  they  done  raided  the  cavvyard 
[horse  herd]  up  at  Agua  Fria;  an'  ef  they  did, 
the'  mus'  be  a  gang  of  'em  !  " 

He  stumbled  on  with  renewed  vigor.  But  just 
as  he  discerned  against  the  dark  sky  the  cliff  which 
walled  the  valley  on  the  east,  he  gave  a  wild  howl, 
and  went  tumbling  into  a  ragged  fissure. 


BOGGED  DOWN  45 

Luckily,  it  was  not  one  of  the  deeper  ones  that 
abound  in  that  wild  flow,  or  there  would  have 
been  an  end  to  the  story  of  Baby  Bones.  As  it 
was,  he  fell  full  twenty  feet,  and  lay  stunned 
and  bleeding,  wedged  between  the  narrow  jaws 
of  the  lava-crack.  It  was  a  long  time  before  he 
began  to  recollect  himself  and  what  had  hap- 
pened —  perhaps  an  hour.  But  as  his  senses  came 
back  by  degrees,  and  the  sharp  pain  from  many 
cuts  and  bruises  stung  him  to  clearer  thought,  he 
did  remember;  and  at  once  the  strong  instinct  of 
the  chase  filled  his  mind.  It  was  hard  work  to 
drag  himself  out  from  that  rocky  pinch;  but  at 
last  he  did  it,  and  with  many  groans  tried  to  climb 
out  of  his  fissure-prison.  But  the  ragged  w^alls 
were  perpendicular  —  a  monkey  could  not  have 
scaled  them.  After  a  cruel  hour  of  limping  back 
and  forth  in  the  cleft,  his  feet  catching  in  the 
narrowing  crack  below,  his  hands  gashed  by  the 
jagged  walls,  at  last  he  found  an  angle  where  he 
was  able  to  ascend,  and  drew  a  deep  glad  breath 
once  more  on  the  top  of  the  treacherous  flow. 

There  was  no  more  running  now  —  he  was  too 
sore  and  lame,  and  fearful  of  further  pitfalls.  He 
limped  cautiously  on,  until  the  edge  of  the  lava 
came  down  again  to  the  trail.  In  a  few  moments 
more  he  was  back  in  the  grassy  "bay."  Tex  was 
still  there,  grazing  contentedly  at  the  end  of  the 
reata,  and  gave  a  joyful  neigh. 

The  sore  cowboy  saddled  the  pony,  and  in  five 


46  BOGGED  DOWN 

minutes  after  regaining  the  "  bay  "  was  galloping 
along  the  trail  northward.  The  forty  miles  of  the 
clay  was  nothing  to  Tex.  He  was  a  horse  of  the 
plains,  and  could  do  forty  more,  and  twenty  on 
top  of  that.  If  the  rustlers  rode  anything  that 
could  wear  Tex  out,  they  were  welcome  to  get 
away,  thought  Baby  Bones.  And  if  he  did  catch 
up  with  them—  well,  he  would  see  ! 

Five  miles,  ten,  fifteen,  twenty,  fell  behind  the 
plucky  pony's  heels.  The  reins  hung  loose  on  his 
neck.  No  one  could  guide  a  horse  in  that  dark- 
ness— and  such  a  horse  needed  no  guide.  A  "[cow- 
pony  "  that  would  lose  a  trail,  or  step  into  a 
prairie-dog  hole  by  night,  would  never  be  tolerated 
on  any  self-respecting  cow-range.  Tex  was  no 
"  tenderfoot ;  "  and  he  bounded  along  as  confi- 
dently as  if  he  could  smell  his  way. 

"  Orter  be  closin'  up,  I  reckon,"  said  the  cow- 
boy, patting  the  hot  neck  and  lifting  the  reins 
gently. 

Tex  stood  still,  and  his  master  leaned  forward 
in  the  saddle  to  listen.  Yes !  There  it  was, 
above  Tex's  hard  breathing  —  the  long,  low  roar! 

"  We're  gettin'  there,  Tex !  "  cried  Baby  Bones. 
"  Keep  it  up,  old  boy,  an'  we'll  hev  some  disap- 
pointed rustlers"  —  and  at  the  word  they  were  off 
again  like  an  arrow. 

Five  miles  more,  the  roar  swelling  louder  and 
louder  —  until  now  the  pursuer  could  feel  the 
shake  of  that  multitudinous  tread,  while  its  rum- 


BOGGED  DOWN  47 

ble  filled  the  night.  As  they  swept  around  a  turn 
of  the  little  valley,  Tex  snorted  and  wildly  rushed 
into  the  thunderous  cloud  of  dust.  Here  were 
cattle  on  the  run ;  what  else  was  to  be  done  but 
"cut  them  out?" 

But  Tex's  horse-wisdom  had  led  him  astray  for 
once.  There  was  a  warning  yell  in  Spanish,  and 
an  answering  chorus  from  half  a  dozen  sides.  A 
sharp,  spiteful  flash,  a  ringing  report,  and  Baby 
Bones  felt  a  curious  numb  streak  across  his  leg. 
A  splinter  from  the  horn  of  his  saddle  struck  his 
bridle-hand.  An  instant  later  there  was  a  flash 
and  a  report  from  below,  and  a  galloping  steer 
plunged  forward  on  its  knees.  The  rustler's 
bullet  had  creased  Baby's  thigh  and  carried  away 
his  saddle-horn.  The  loosened  fonda,  swinging 
downward,  had  dropped  his  Winchester  to  the 
ground,  where  it  was  discharged.  No  time  to  stop 
and  pick  it  up  now,  even  had  there  been  light  to 
find  it.  A  stop  there  would  make  a  target  of 
man  and  horse,  even  in  that  gloom.  The  only 
safety  was  in  the  indiscriminate  crowd  of  hurry- 
ing figures.  There  was  little  danger  then,  unless 
accident  should  bring  him  alongside  one  of  the 
rustlers.  In  that  case  he  would  "  stand  an  even 
show,  anyhow,"  as  he  reflected. 

For  mile  after  mile  the  strange  earth-shaking 
jam  of  thunderous  hoofs  swept  on.  The  stolen 
cattle,  the  robbers,  Baby  Bones,  were  all  in  one 
indeterminate  jostle ;  dumb  hearts  filled  with 


48  BOGGED  DOWN 

terror,  and  human  ones  with  hate  and  deadly 
thoughts.  Baby  Bones  held  his  six-shooter  cocked 
down  along  his  hip  as  Tex  galloped  on  —  and  he 
knew  well  that  each  of  his  unseen  and  outnum- 
bering foes  was  similarly  ready.  His  eyes  were 
loose  —  looking  nowhere,  but  in  that  peculiar  pas- 
sive readiness  to  be  called  to  keenest  scrutiny  by 
the  least  hint  from  either  side. 

Once  his  trained  ear  detected  the  firm  thud  of 
a  horse's  hoofs  behind  him.  He  turned  in  his 
saddle  just  in  time  to  escape  the  bullet  of  one  of 
the  desperadoes,  who  had  circled  the  rear  of  the 
herd  to  discover  the  interloper.  Baby  Bones 
fired  even  as  he  wheeled,  but  the  rustler  was  al- 
ready lost  in  the  darkness. 

Then  on  a  sudden  he  felt  that  there  was  some- 
thing wrong  with  the  herd  —  an  indefinable  change 
in  the  roar  of  hoofs.  In  another  instant  he  saw 
in  the  darkness  that  the  cattle  were  sweeping  to 
his  right  and  left,  like  a  great  torrent  suddenly 
divided  by  an  invisible  rock. 

Before  he  could  give  a  thought  to  this  unex- 
pected occurrence,  he  and  Tex  seemed  to  be  fall- 
ing, and  a  great  splash  of  icy  water  drenched  him 
from  head  to  foot. 

There  was  another  splash  beside  him,  and  an- 
other on  the  left,  and  another,  and  another,  fol- 
lowing swifter  than  thought. 

It  was  the  creek,  of  course  ;  but  why  did  Tex 
flounder  so  ?  And  the  others !  He  had  heard 


BOGGED  DOWN  49 

four  of  the  rustlers  ride  in,  but  instead  of  their 
ho  of -beats  on  the  farther  bank  now,  there  was  a 
fearful  splashing  and  cursing  —  Ah !  they  were 
in  the  Cow  Trap  ! 

Poor  Tex  was  struggling  with  desperate  strength, 
but  it  was  of  no  avail.  The  water  was  already  at 
his  shoulders  —  in  a  moment  he  could  not  even 
struggle  —  his  feet  were  gripped  in  that  hideous 
vise  below.  The  terrified  brute,  lifting  his  head 
high,  gave  a  shriek  that  was  human  in  its  despair. 
Poor  Tex  ! 

Baby  Bones  had  been  stunned  at  first,  but  he 
was  wide  awake  now. 

To  his  right,  ten  feet  away,  he  could  make  out 
a  dark,  struggling  mass,  from  which  came  wild 
snorts  and  husky  screams  to  the  saints. 

In  an  instant  the  cowboy  was  on  his  feet  in 
the  saddle.  Gathering  his  ungainly  frame,  he 
sprang  madly  out  into  the  air.  Those  stilt-like, 
awkward  legs  had  reckoned  their  tension  well. 
He  landed  on  the  withers  of  a  struggling  horse, 
eliciting  a  new  howl  from  the  terrified  robber ; 
tottered,  caught  his  poise,  and  made  another  des- 
perate bound. 

Splash  !  He  had  fallen  short  of  the  bank,  and 
he  felt  the  deadly  sands  clasping  above  his  knees. 
But  he  threw  himself  frantically  forward,  drag- 
ging his  feet  up  a  little  as  he  went  over.  And 
hurra  !  His  hands  touched  the  bank! 

He  caught  a  tiny  bunch  of  sedge-grass,  held  it 


50  BOGGED  DOWN 

carefully  lest  its  roots  should  give  way,  and  pulled 
gently  and  steadily.  It  held.  A  wave  of  joy 
rushed  through  him  as  he  felt  his  feet  slowly 
drawing  out  from  that  strange  clutch.  A  moment 
more  and  he  was  lying  on  the  bank,  weak  and 
trembling  with  excitement  and  exertion,  but  safe. 

The  struggling  in  the  pool  had  grown  less. 
There  was  only  a  faint  splash  to  be  heard  now  and 
then  above  the  chorus  of  shrieks  and  oaths  and 
prayers  of  frantic  men.  The  horses  were  evidently 
all  drowned  or  already  engulfed ;  and  the  riders 
would  soon  share  their  fate. 

Five  minutes  before  the  rough-bred  cowboy 
had  had  but  one  desire,  —  a  chance  to  kill  or 
capture  these  robbers.  But  the  meaner  passions 
stand  aside  in  the  presence  of  the  Great  Leveller ; 
and  now  Baby's  only  thought  was  to  save  his 
enemies  from  so  hideous  a  death.  He  was  help- 
less enough.  The  reata,  with  which  he  could 
have  "  roped  "  them  all  to  safety  one  by  one,  had 
gone  down  with  poor  Tex.  There  was  not  even 
a  bush,  whose  helpful  branches  he  might  stretch 
out  to  the  doomed  wretches. 

He  ran  up  and  down  the  bank,  shaking  his  big 
fists  in  despair,  yelling,  "Saltan!  Jump  flat! 
I'll  help  you!  " 

One  Mexican  leaped;  but,  weak  with  terror, 
struck  upon  his  feet  three  yards  from  the  shore. 
The  others  did  not  seem  to  hear  the  friendly  yell, 
but  went  floundering  off  their  submerged  saddles 


BOGGED  DOWN  51 

beside  their  disappearing  steeds,  still  shrieking 
and  praying  hoarsely. 

Baby  Bones  could  see  the  man  who  had  jumped, 
already  waist-deep.  Forgetting  his  own  safety, 
the  youth  stooped  low  and  shot  his  long  body 
out  upon  the  water  as  if  swimming.  The  sink- 
ing rustler  made  a  frantic  clutch  at  him,  but  the 
cowboy,  turning  on  his  side,  dealt  him  a  fearful 
blow  in  the  face  that  laid  him  back  motionless 
upon  the  water. 

Then  with  great  care,  lying  on  his  belly  in  the 
shallow  water,  that  the  treacherous  quicksand 
might  get  no  hold  on  him,  he  tugged  and  hauled 
first  at  one  leg  of  the  rustler,  then  at  the  other. 
Now  that  no  weight  was  pushing  them  down,  he 
soon  had  them  clear. 

Twisting  one  hand  in  the  long  hair  of  the  un- 
conscious robber,  Baby  Bones  towed  him  ashore. 
Laying  his  limp  captive  upon  the  grass,  and  find- 
ing a  faint  pulse  in  the  wrist,  he  cut  a  couple  of 
thongs  from  his  buckskin  jacket  and  tied  the  arms 
and  ankles  securely.  The  fellow  would  soon  re- 
cover from  the  stunning,  and  Baby  Bones  had  no 
intention  that  he  should  get  away. 

As  for  the  others,  there  was  no  help  for  them. 
No  splash  longer  disturbed  the  pool's  ripples. 
The  Cow  Trap  had  claimed  new  victims. 

When  the  foreman  and  a  score  of  cowboys 
came  with  Baby  Bones  to  the  deadly  pool,  just 


52  BOGGED  DOWN 

as  the  day  was  breaking,  it  was  the  same  placid, 
purring,  limpid  pool  of  old.  There  were  some 
fresh  hoof-prints  on  its  margin,  but  no  more. 
Even  the  prisoner  was  gone. 

Soon  the  sharp-eyed  trailers  read  the  whole 
story  in  the  soil.  The  foremost  cattle  had  seen 
and  recognized  the  dreaded  pool,  and  had  swerved 
to  either  side,  blindly  followed  by  those  behind. 
But  in  the  darkness  and  the  stifling  dust-cloud 
the  horses  had  run  straight  into  the  trap. 

A  little  farther  up  the  creek  one  rustler  had 
crossed  in  safety.  He  had  evidently  come  back, 
cut  the  thongs  from  Baby  Bones's  captive,  and 
carried  him  off  on  his  own  horse. 

As  for  the  cattle,  they  were  all  found  in  the 
meadows,  worn  out  with  their  fearful  stampede. 

The  two  surviving  rustlers  got  safely  away ; 
but  they  never  raided  the  T  C  C  again.  To  this 
day,  if  you  drop  into  the  home-ranch  of  an  even- 
ing, you  will  have  little  difficulty  in  persuading 
Baby  Bones  —  now  with  a  straggling  beard,  but 
still  Baby  —  to  tell  you  about  the  night  when  the 
Cow  Trap  caught  big  game. 


THE   BITE   OF   THE   PICHU-CUATE 


THE  BITE  OF  THE  PICHU-CUATE 

CLEAKLY,  Claudio  was  tired  —  and  it  took  a 
deal  to  tire  this  big,  tousle-headed  young  Mexican. 
His  feet  and  hands  were  several  sizes  too  big  for 
the  rest  of  his  body,  overgrown  as  that  was ;  but 
they  seemed  capable  in  proportion.  Though  but 
twenty,  and  with  just  a  dark  fuzz  upon  his  lip, 
he  was  strong  as  a  mule,  and  apparently  as  endur- 
ing. It  was  a  most  fortunate  thing  for  Claudio. 
Had  he  been  as  slow  as  the  rest  of  the  shepherds, 
he  might  have  stayed  at  home  "  smoking  himself 
the  fingers,"  as  he  would  say ;  for  it  cost  as  much 
to  keep  him  as  any  two  of  the  others.  Such  an- 
other appetite  as  his  was  not  to  be  found  in  all 
western  New  Mexico,  and  I  do  not  say  that 
blindly,  for  I  know  them  all.  In  the  lambing- 
camp  of  San  Miguel  I  have  seen  with  these  same 
eyes  the  cool  onslaught  of  Claudio  upon  a  whole 
side  of  sheep,  with  bread  to  match ;  and  his  un- 
conditional victory.  But  coffee  was  his  strong 
point  —  and  not  the  gentle  drink  of  civilization, 
but  coffee  of  Southwestern  sheep-camps,  black  as 
ink  and  mighty  as  lye.  Don  Amado  used  often 
to  say  that  Claudio's  coffee  would  pay  the  wages 
55 


56  THE  BITE  OF  THE  PICHU-CUATE 

of  another  shepherd;  and  I  do  not  doubt  it. 
Thrice  at  each  of  his  three  meals  (4  A.M.,  noon, 
and  dark)  the  lad  used  to  take  his  pint-and-a-half 
tin  cup,  nil  it  a  third  of  the  way  with  sugar,  and 
then  brim  it  with  the  black  coffee.  No  wonder 
he  never  got  sleepy  on  duty ;  and  that  while  the 
other  shepherds  were  drowsing  under  the  juni- 
pers, leaving  their  hatajos 1  to  wander  off  into 
trouble,  Claudio  was  always  running,  always 
rounding-up  his  woolly  wards  into  a  tolerably 
compact  mass,  and  keeping  them  as  safe  as  it  is 
in  human  power  to  keep  anything  so  contrary  and 
so  brainless.  He  never  seemed  to  sit  down ;  and 
whether  he  really  did  or  not,  his  Tiatajo  was  always 
in  good  shape.  So  Don  Amado  continued  to  keep 
Claudio  —  and  his  appetite  —  on  the  pay-roll. 

But  this  afternoon  the  large  feet  in  their  clumsy 
teguas  dragged  rather  heavily,  to  the  imminent 
danger  of  a  splitting,  by  the  sharp  rocks,  of  sheep- 
pelt  upper  from  rawhide  sole ;  and  several  times 
Claudio  groaned  a  doleful  "  ay  de  mi !  "  when  he 
had  to  run  down  to  the  cienega  to  rescue  some 
lamb  from  a  mud-hole.  It  was  not  to  be  wondered 
at,  after  the  morning's  work.  A  large  flock  had 
come  in  from  El  Dado,  and  there  had  been  the 
task  of  separating  them  in  the  big  corral.  Find- 
ing that  the  directest  way,  Claudio  had  simply 
clutched  the  heavy  wethers  by  their  fleece,  one 

1  A-tah-ho,  a  flock.  Specifically  used  in  New  Mexico  of  the 
band  of  lambs  cared  for  by  one  herder. 


THE  BITE  OF  THE  PICHU-CUATE  57 

by  one,  and  swung  them  bodily  over  the  gate 
which  closed  the  gap  in  the  fence.  Thus  at  last 
all  the  ewes  remained  inside  the  corral,  while  all 
the  wethers  were  herded  without.  For  his  share, 
Claudio  had  lifted  three  hundred  and  fifty-seven 
big  sheep  over  a  four-foot  gate ;  and  then,  since 
nine  of  the  morning,  had  been  chasing  hither  and 
yon  around  the  outskirts  of  his  perverse  Jiatajo. 
The  lambs  in  his  band  were  now  five  days  old ; 
and  at  that  age  a  New  Mexican  penco  is  smart 
enough  in  body  and  impish  enough  in  mind  to 
undo  Job  himself.  But  that  was  not  all.  The 
mothers,  whose  age  might  have  been  expected  to 
give  them  discretion,  were  as  crazy  as  the  lambs. 
There  was  always  trouble  in  the  family.  Ewes 
did  not  recognize  their  own  children,  and  Claudio, 
who  knew  the  relationships  better  than  they  did, 
had  every  now  and  then  to  throw  down  an  un- 
natural mother  and  hold  her  while  the  lamb 
nursed  —  else  the  penco  would  have  starved. 
Again,  one  of  these  irresponsibles,  who  had  dis- 
owned her  proper  offspring,  would  assault  some 
better  mother  and  try  to  take  away  her  lamb. 
What  with  these  vagaries  of  old  and  young,  their 
common  perversity  in  going  everywhere  that  they 
should  not,  and  nowhere  that  they  should,  the 
pastor  had  his  hands  and  heart  full. 

To  add  to  the  worry,  the  snakes  were  beginning 
to  come  out  from  their  winter  nap.  The  opening 
of  May  at  the  eight-thousand-foot  altitude  of  San 


58  THE  BITE  OF  THE  PICHU-CUATE 

Miguel  is  rather  early  for  these  long  sleepers  ;  but 
the  spring  was  forward  and  the  sun  warm,  and 
though  none  had  been  seen  yet,  there  was  no  mis- 
taking their  presence.  The  short,  brown  grama 
grass  of  last  year  was  thin ;  and  the  hungry  sheep 
were  wild  for  the  few  tender  blades  of  green  that 
began  to  show  here  and  there  about  the  mouths  of 
the  tusa  holes.  There  was  none  elsewhere,  nor 
enough  there  to  make  it  worth  the  running  any 
risk ;  but  the  sheep  could  not  be  kept  away — and 
some  paid  for  their  greed.  Not  that  the  prairie- 
dogs  (which  were  also  just  wakening  from  their 
hibernation)  quarrelled  with  the  trespassers ;  but 
in  some  burrows  were  other  tenants  than  tusas, 
lying  in  the  sunny  mouth  of  the  hole,  and  sav- 
agely resentful  of  interruption.  Already  that  day 
Claudio  had  found  three  dead  ewes,  each  lying  close 
beside  a  burrow,  fearfully  swollen  ;  and  upon  the 
nose  of  each  were  two  tiny  black  marks  such  as 
one  might  make  with  a  tattooing  needle. 

"  Claro  !  "  said  Claudio.  "  These  ill-said  vivoras 
are  touchy  now,  being  so  full  of  poison  that  their 
teeth  ache,  and  glad  of  something  to  strike.  And 
not  at  corrientes,  but  these  merinos  of  four  dollars 
each  one.  What  disgrace  ! " 

Into  the  mouth  of  each  burrow  he  threw  stones 
and  earth,  and  stamped  it  down  with  vicious  heel, 
as  much  as  to  say,  "  Now,  Mrs.  Rattlesnake,  bite 
your  way  out ! "  Then  he  carefully  took  off  the 
pelts  of  the  victims,  and  hung  them  to  dry  upon 


THE  BITE  OF  THE  PICHU-CUATE  59 

branches  of  the  junipers,  that  all  this  fine  fleece 
might  not  be  wasted.  It  was  not  much  to  save 
out  of  four  dollars  a  head ;  but  even  the  dimes 
count  when  a  bad  season  comes  upon  the  owner 
of  forty  thousand  sheep.  And,  quite  contrary  to 
the  usual  run  of  shepherds,  Claudio  never  neglected 
things. 

As  the  afternoon  wore  on,  the  Jiatajo  grazed 
slowly  up  the  draw.  They  were  three  miles  from 
the  hut  and  corrals  of  the  lambing-camp  of  San 
Miguel — a  long  way  for  such  tender  travellers,  but 
nearer  home  the  grass  was  completely  eaten  off. 
Close,  now,  on  the  left  was  the  strange  red  spire 
of  the  Cerro  de  la  Alesna,  its  twenty-five-hundred- 
foot  cliffs  glorified  by  the  slanting  sun.  And  just 
ahead,  the  woods  of  the  higher  slopes  came  down 
to  the  very  edge  of  the  draw. 

Claudio  was  measuring  the  sun  with  a  sober  eye, 
and  trying  to  make  up  his  mind  if  it  would  be 
better  to  sleep  there,  or  to  take  the  Jiatajo  back  to 
camp  for  the  night.  A  May  night  up  there  under 
the  Peak  of  the  Awl  is  no  joke,  even  with  blankets 
— which  he  had  not — but  neither  is  it  any  part  of  a 
joke  to  drive  an  Jiatajo  three  miles.  He  was  rather 
inclined  to  stay.  If  he  were  not  in  camp  by  eight 
o'clock,  he  knew  they  would  send  Filadelfio  out  to 
him  with  supper  —  though  he  was  not  quite  sure 
if  there  would  be  three  full  cups  of  coffee.  When 
he  was  not  there  to  help  himself,  they  sometimes 
took  a  mean  advantage  of  him,  and  sent  not  more 


60  THE  BITE  OF  THE  PICHU-CUATE 

than  a  quart  of  coffee.     And  it  was  upon  this 
serious  point  that  his  decision  hung  doubtful. 

Just  then,  as  if  by  preconcerted  plan,  the  ewes 
raised  their  heads  to  sniff  the  soft  breeze  ;  and  in 
another  instant,  with  a  chorus  of  strange  whistles 

—  which  I  dare  say  would  be  as  surprising  to  an 
Eastern  farmer  as  the  sight   of  three  thousand 
sheep  in  a  flock  and  fifty  thousand  at  one  shearing 

—  went  tearing  and  gallopading  over  the  swale  as 
if  the  very  wolves  were  after  them.     The  only 
wolves  were    Claudio    and    the    lambkins,  both 
running   with    all    their   legs,  and  both   calling 
"Wait  for  me,"  though  in   different   tongues  — 
for  while  Claudio  yelled  "  coo-ee  !  "  the  orphans 
only  cried  "  be-eh  !  "     But  the  fugitives  were  deaf 
to  both  appeals,  and  in  another  moment  had  dis- 
appeared over  the  brow  of  the  ridge. 

"  Que  cosa  ?  "  groaned  Claudio.  "  Are  the  beasts 
bewitched?  What  did  they  smell?  And  who 
knows  if  they  will  stop  themselves  this  side  Ace- 
bache  ?  Presto,  pencos!  Hurry  up,  or  you  have 
no  mothers ! " 

Truly,  the  ewes  seemed  bound  for  Acebache,  for- 
getful of  their  wabbly-legged  babies  ;  for  when 
the  shepherd  got  his  lagging  band  to  the  top  of 
the  ridge,  the  next  draw  was  empty,  and  not  a 
sheep  in  sight.  "  Ay  de  mi ! "  he  cried.  "  To 
leave  the  pencos  and  find  the  mothers,  or  let  those 
go  and  watch  these  ?  For  the  ewes  are  worth  far 
more  —  but  also  they  can  care  better  for  them- 


THE  BITE  OF  THE  PICHU-CUATE  61 

selves.  Ldstima!  Either  way  there  will  be  loss. 
But  at  least  I  will  go  a  little  forward  and  look 
—  if  by  luck  I  can  see  the  rogues  "  —  and  he 
rounded-up  the  lambs  at  the  bottom  of  the 
draw. 

But  the  moment  he  started  up  the  farther  slope, 
the  stupid  little  creatures  ran  after  him  with  un- 
certain steps  but  very  certain  voices.  Since  he 
was  the  only  mother  that  remained  to  them,  they 
had  no  intention  of  losing  him;  and  in  spite  of  the 
bombardment  of  words  and  pebbles  he  directed  at 
them,  they  pranced  up  to  him  and  nuzzled  against 
his  legs,  and  dropped  contentedly  upon  his  very 
feet.  So  I  have  seen  them  many  a  time  desert 
their  rightful  mothers,  and  follow,  with  every 
filial  demonstration,  a  dog  or  man  or  cow,  or  in 
fact  any  other  thing  that  had  the  quality  of 
motion.  In  vain  Claudio  pelted  them ;  in  vain 
he  took  the  voice  of  a  wild  beast,  and  growled 
and  roared  and  rushed  at  them  with  antics  fit 
to  have  scared  a  mad  bull  off  the  field.  Unmoved 
and  confidingly  they  hung  at  his  heels,  merely 
tumbling  down  when  he  charged,  but  showing 
neither  fright  nor  disposition  to  criticise  their 
guardian. 

"  It  is  to  run,  then,"  grumbled  Claudio,  mopping 
his  flushed  face  with  a  ragged  sleeve.  "  For  when 
I  am  out  of  sight,  they  will  stop.  And  in  a  mo- 
ment I  will  be  back,  before  they  can  wander." 
Pulling  off  his  coat,  he  swung  it  vigorously  about 


62  THE  BITE  OF  THE  PICHU-CUATE 

him  to  clear  a  space;  leaped  over  the  backs  of 
a  few  loiterers,  and  went  running  up  the  slope 
at  a  gait  it  was  a  wonder  to  see  such  clumsy 
legs  making.  The  coat  dropped  from  his  hand 
as  he  jumped  a  gully  ;  but  without  stopping  even 
to  look  back,  he  plunged  over  the  ridge  and  dis- 
appeared. 

As  for  the  pencos,  they  came  straddling  and 
prancing  and  stumbling  along,  still  "be-ehing." 
Several  tripped  on  the  coat,  and,  finding  it  warm, 
promptly  sprawled  upon  their  knees  and  began  to 
nurse  at  whatever  rag  or  tag  they  first  found  ;  and 
the  others,  fancying  that  they  were  being  robbed 
of  their  dinner,  crowded  and  jostled  about,  butt- 
ing, falling  down,  clambering  over  one  another. 

I  am  sure  that  even  Claudio,  used  as  he  was  to 
the  follies  of  sheep-kind,  would  have  laughed  to 
see  his  old  coat  adopting  fifty  orphan  lambs  and 
keeping  them  as  contented  as  anything  can  content 
such  stupids.  But  Claudio  saw  nothing  to  laugh 
at,  when,  fifteen  minutes  later,  he  came  toiling  back 
over  the  ridge,  a  little  out  of  breath  with  his  run, 
and  quite  out  of  humor  with  its  results. 

"  Fools  and  three  kinds  of  fools  !  "  he  was  pant- 
ing. "  Not  even  in  the  valley  of  El  Dado  could 
I  see  them.  Now  there  is  nothing  but  to  bring 
the  pencos  to  camp,  and  then  with  a  horse  follow 
these  huidoras  till  — he!  El  oso  !  No  wonder  they 
ran,  smelling  him  !  " 

For  where  the  reunion  of  the  coat-family  had 


THE  BITE  OF  THE  PICHU-CUATE  63 

been,  was  now  a  lot  of  little  white  patches, 
smeared  with  blood.  Here  and  there  a  lamb  was 
to  be  seen,  wandering  disconsolately  about  the 
draw  or  fallen  exhausted  under  a  chaparro  shrub. 
And  over  the  farther  swale  was  just  disappearing 
a  big,  dark,  shambling  figure  with  two  white 
objects  shining  upon  it. 

It  was  all  plain  enough.  The  ewes,  scenting 
the  bear  from  afar,  as  he  sneaked  through  the 
woods,  had  fled  incontinently;  for  the  actual 
presence  of  no  other  wild  beast  so  terrifies  sheep 
as  the  mere  smell  of  a  bear.  And  taking  advan- 
tage of  Claudio's  brief  absence,  bruin  had  sallied 
from  the  junipers,  played  havoc  among  the  lambs 
(which  were  too  stupid  to  fear  even  him),  and 
was  now  making  off  with  a  couple  "for  future 
reference." 

Claudio  did  not  wait  an  instant  to  ponder. 
His  blood,  warm  enough  after  a  typical  shep- 
herd's day  of  aggravations,  leaped  to  boiling  at 
sight  of  this  fresh  outrage ;  and  as  nimbly  as  if 
he  had  just  risen  from  rest,  he  dashed  forward, 
thinking  the  Spanish  anathemas  there  was  no 
breath  to  utter. 

The  bear,  like  bears  always,  was  only  anxious 
to  get  away,  if  he  decently  could,  and  ran  his 
best.  Ordinarily,  that  would  have  been  far  better 
than  Claudio's  best  —  or  a  very  fair  horse's  best, 
for  that  matter.  But  greediness  is  costly,  even  for 
bears.  The  lamb  in  his  mouth  was  no  handicap 


64  THE  BITE  OF  THE  PICHU-CUATE 

whatever;  and  having  eaten  two  or  three  on  the 
ground,  he  might  have  been  contented  with  that. 
But  the  one  he  persisted  in  carrying  hugged  under 
his  forearm  did  seriously  impede  him.  Even 
then,  in  the  long  run,  he  was  more  than  a  match 
for  his  pursuer,  and  had  he  made  for  the  nearest 
edge  of  the  timber,  would  undoubtedly  have  been 
safe;  but  when  Claudio  came  in  full  view  of  him, 
and  only  a  hundred  yards  behind,  he  whipped 
from  his  belt  the  venerable  and  battered  six- 
shooter  he  carried  in  lieu  of  a  rifle.  "  Throwing 
down,"  in  the  swift,  instinctive  motion  of  those 
who  really  know  how  to  use  a  revolver  and  never 
stop  to  ask  whether  it  has  sights  or  not,  he  sent 
a  leaden  proxy  running  for  him.  It  was  a  good 
shot,  tired  and  at  speed  as  he  was  —  the  kind  of 
shooting  one  has  to  learn  on  the  frontier,  and  can- 
not learn  in  a  gallery.  The  bear  turned  a  com- 
plete somersault,  and,  gathering  itself  again,  began 
biting  viciously  at  its  rump.  Claudio  had  not 
stopped  at  all;  but  now,  within  thirty  yards,  he 
halted,  and  watched  for  the  brute  to  give  him  a 
shot  at  some  vital  part.  But  in  that  very  instant 
the  bear,  with  a  snuffle  of  rage,  wheeled  and  came 
galloping  at  his  late  pursuer.  Evidently  the 
heavy  ball  had  broken  no  bones,  for  there  was  no 
hitch  in  that  grim,  shambling  gait  —  so  ludicrous 
from  a  rear  or  side  view,  so  grotesquely  terrible 
from  in  front.  Only  those  who  have  been  charged 
by  a  wounded  bear  can  understand  the  ghastly 


THE  BITE  OF  THE  PICHU-CUATE  65 

humor  of  it,  the  incongruous  thoughts,  the  mingled 
horror  and  revulsion  of  it. 

As  the  bear  came  on,  there  was  the  poorest  of 
chances  for  shooting.  Not  that  Claudio's  nerve 
had  failed  him  —  there  was  "something  in"  this 
clumsy,  unlettered  Mexican  lad.  But  the  atti- 
tude of  the  beast  was  the  very  best  defence  for 
his  vital  parts.  Had  he  been  able  to  reason  it 
out,  he  could  have  invented  no  other  posture  so 
safe  as  that  of  the  charge.  Claudio  drove  a 
square  shot  at  the  skull,  not  in  any  notion  that  he 
could  bore  that  sloping  forehead,  but  hoping  the 
rap  might  startle  the  beast  into  rising,  so  that 
he  could  get  a  chance  at  the  throat,  the  best  of 
all  shots  at  a  bear.  But  the  heavy  ball  merely 
ploughed  a  red  furrow  up  the  squat  skull,  and  the 
bear  came  lurching  on.  It  was  worse  than  useless 
to  run.  Slender  as  was  the  chance  of  life  now,  it 
all  lay  in  standing  firm.  Within  six  feet  the  huge 
brute  did  rear  up  on  his  haunches,  and,  spring- 
ing back  a  step,  Claudio  was  bringing  down  his 
weapon  like  lightning,  to  "  let  go  "  when  it  should 
be  on  a  level  with  that  mighty  throat,  now  fully 
exposed.  But  the  bear  was  no  innocent ;  and 
cleverly  judged  as  was  Claudio's  move,  he  had 
met  his  match  in  quick  wit.  Even  the  sweep  of 
his  swift  arm  was  slow  beside  the  flash  of  that 
great  paw,  as  it  swooped  far  forward,  met  his 
descending  hand  with  a  calculation  an  Indian  eye 
might  have  envied,  and  sent  the  heavy  revolver 


66  THE  BITE  OF  THE  PICHU-CUATE 

spinning  forty  feet,  going  off  as  it  flew.  And  in 
another  instant  the  shepherd  was  on  his  back  and 
the  bear  upon  him. 

The  great  claws  had  struck  only  the  six-shooter, 
and  Claudio's  hand  was  unhurt,  save  where  the 
violent  wrenching  of  the  guard  had  cut  and 
twisted  his  fingers ;  and  instinctively  he  gripped 
deep  in  the  thick  fur,  where  first  his  hands 
lighted.  Neither  had  he  been  hurt  by  the  fall, 
for  here  was  soft  gray  sand,  which  a  little  re- 
lieved, too,  the  fearful  pressure  upon  his  legs. 
But  none  of  these  things  comforted  Claudio  ;  and 
he  fought  only  as  a  man  fights  blindly  to  the  end. 
His  last  faint  hope  had  gone  when  the  six-shooter 
went  whirling  far  beyond  reach. 

The  bear,  which  had  gone  to  bed  in  his  cave  in 
the  canon  of  Acebache,  rolling  fat,  in  November, 
had  but  a  few  days  ago  come  forth  from  that  long 
nap,  the  shadow  of  his  proper  self.  His  long, 
heavy  fur  was  sadly  rusty,  and  his  huge  frame 
lean  as  a  rail.  He  had  been  interrupted  in  the 
first  square  meal  in  five  months,  and  from  that 
long  fast  came  two  strange  results.  One  was, 
that  he  was  not  half  himself  in  strength,  and  that 
the  powerful  young  Mexican  was  therefore  some- 
thing more  than  a  puppet  in  his  paws.  Of  the 
end,  certainly,  there  could  be  no  doubt ;  but 
meantime  Claudio  wrestled  mightily,  and  even 
succeeded  in  struggling  to  his  feet,  hugging  close, 
to  give  those  paws  no  chance  for  one  of  the  swipes 


THE  BITE  OF  THE  PICHU-CUATE  67 

that  would  make  an  eggshell  of  his  head.  His 
face  he  snuggled  into  the  bear's  chest,  and  so 
kept  clear  of  the  dripping  jaws.  And,  despite 
the  fearful  pressure  under  which  his  ribs  creaked 
and  sprung,  he  hunched  and  tugged  and  swayed 
blindly,  desperately,  as  wrestling  with  some  tall 
man  whom  he  might  hope  to  pitch  at  last.  But 
it  was  not  for  long. 

Finding  these  close  quarters  unsatisfactory,  the 
bear  brought  up  its  muscular  arm,  and,  clapping 
its  paw  upon  Claudio's  mat  of  hair,  forced  his 
head  resistlessly  back.  The  great  claws  were 
buried  in  his  scalp,  and  little  streams  of  red 
spurted  out.  The  bear's  left  arm  was  around  his 
waist,  while  the  right  was  giving  him  the  "break- 
hold  "  as  scientifically  as  any  wrestler  could  have 
done.  And  now  a  villainous  warm  breath  came 
sickeningly  in  his  face,  and  he  could  see  the 
red  jaws  and  white  teeth  within  six  inches.  He 
even  noticed,  with  that  strange  inconsequence 
which  comes  upon  men  in  these  moments,  that 
blood  from  the  scalp-wound  had  run  down  and 
tinged  the  froth  which  dripped  from  that  great 
mouth.  In  a  frenzy  of  terror,  he  caught  a  clutch 
under  the  throat,  to  hold  back  that  horrible  head 
—  and  the  strongest  man  could  scarce  have  bent 
against  Claudio's  desperate  arms.  But  it  was 
only  a  question  of  a  little  longer.  Slowly,  slowly, 
those  resistless  neck  muscles  bore  down  Claudio's 
iron  arms ;  and  the  big  jaws,  working  grimly, 


68  THE  BITE  OF  THE  PICHU-CUATE 

drew  nearer.  A  deadly  faintness  began  to  spread 
from  his  stomach,  and  Claudio  shut  his  eyes. 

Just  then  a  sudden  jerk  ran  through  the  body 
of  the  bear,  and  there  was  a  sharp  snort  as  of  rage 
or  pain.  Claudio  opened  his  eyes.  He  could  see 
nothing  but  that  demoniac  face  ;  but  in  it  he 
fancied  there  was  a  new  expression.  Then  there 
was  a  sickening  movement  of  the  great  claws 
which  had  sunk  deep  into  his  back  and  scalp. 
Surely  they  were  relaxing  !  Their  withdrawal 
was  far  more  painful  than  their  entrance  had 
been  ;  but  even  with  the  faintness  of  the  new 
pain,  a  sudden  wave  of  joy  swept  through  the  shep- 
herd—  for  the  first  time,  now,  he  hoped,  though 
he  knew  not  why.  He  shook  his  head  savagely, 
to  clear  the  blood  which  streamed  down  over  his 
eyes  (the  paw  had  dropped  from  his  scalp),  and 
dug  his  fists  into  the  deep-furred  throat,  and 
fought  with  the  strength  of  two  Claudios  —  fight- 
ing no  longer  as  a  dying  rat  fights,  but  like  a  man 
for  hope  of  life. 

Then  a  very  wonderful  thing  befell.  The  bear 
was  groaning  and  panting  heavily  ;  and  suddenly 
it  lurched  and  fell  to  the  ground,  carrying  Claudio 
with  it.  But  it  was  no  longer  trying  to  get  his 
head  between  its  jaws.  For  a  moment  it  lay  half 
upon  him,  writhing,  grinding  its  teeth  ;  and  then 
flung  itself  to  one  side,  biting  up  a  great  mouth- 
ful of  sand.  Claudio  leaped  to  his  feet,  ran  to 
the  six-shooter,  and  fell  upon  it,  crying  like  a 


THE  BITE   OF  TEE  PICHU-CUATE  69 

child.  It  was  ten  minutes  before  he  could  get 
up ;  for  loss  of  blood  —  and,  more  than  all,  the 
frightful  strain  —  had  left  him  limp  as  a  rag. 
At  last  he  staggered  to  his  feet,  clutching  the 
six-shooter,  and  walked  unsteadily  toward  the 
bear. 

"  What  thing  is  this  ?  "  he  muttered.  "  For 
that  ball  in  the  rump  ought  never  to  kill  him. 
Perhaps  he  is  only  making  as  dead,  to  fool  me." 
But  there  was  no  make-believe  about  it ;  the  great 
brute  was  lifeless  as  a  stone. 

"  But  what  will  it  be  ?  "  cried  Claudio,  kicking 
the  gaunt  carcass.  "Is  he  perhaps  bewitched? 
Aver!" 

Laying  down  his  revolver,  he  caught  the  heavy 
fur  of  the  rump,  to  turn  the  bear  over.  Ordinarily 
he  would  have  succeeded.  Four  hundredweight 
is  no  fool  of  a  lump  ;  but  Claudio,  as  you  have 
seen,  was  an  uncommonly  powerful  young  man. 
Now,  however,  worn  out  by  his  fearful  struggle, 
and  with  nerves  so  unstrung  that  he  trembled  all 
over,  it  was  too  much  for  him.  Still,  the  mystery 
would  not  let  him  rest ;  and  hunching  his  shoulder 
against  the  bear's  back,  he  ran  his  hand  under, 
feeling  for  the  wound.  He  groped  and  groped  ; 
but  suddenly  in  a  hollow  felt  the  touch  of  some- 
thing very  different  from  fur  or  sand,  and  in  the 
same  instant  an  inconceivable  pang.  And  when 
he  jerked  away  his  arm  a  tiny  snake,  less  than  a 


70  THE  BITE  OF  THE  PICHU-CUATE 

foot  long,  gray-backed,  and  coppery  on  the  belly, 
was  hanging  from  his  thumb. 

The  last  vestige  of  color  faded  from  the  brown 
face  and  left  it  gray  as  ashes  between  the  drying 
streaks  of  blood  ;  for  Claudio  knew  the  pichu- 
cuate,  the  only  real  asp  in  the  New  World,  the 
deadliest  snake  in  North  America.  So  he  had 
escaped  the  bear  only  to  die  by  this  tiny  foe  ;  for 
never  yet  had  one  been  known  to  recover  from 
the  bite  of  the  pichu-cuate.  A  rattlesnake  was 
nothing  ;  but  this  —  well,  see  what  it  had  done  for 
such  a  monster  as  the  bear,  and  in  the  space  of 
less  than  a  minute  !  Evidently  in  their  struggle 
bruin  had  stepped  too  close  to  this  unsuspected 
danger  —  that  great  lump  on  his  hind  leg  ex- 
plained all.  Had  he  carried  his  usual  coat  of 
fat,  the  venom  would  have  taken  far  longer  to 
operate,  and  he  would  have  had  abundant  time 
to  settle  accounts  with  Claudio.  But  he  no 
longer  looked  gaunt.  He  was  still  swelling  — 
already  he  looked  fat  as  if  July  were  here. 

Already  Claudio  was  reeling.  Fearful  pains 
shot  up  his  arm  and  went  forking  through  his 
body.  Upon  the  thumb  were  only  two  tiny  black 
dots,  right  at  the  tip  ;  but  the  hand  in  these  five 
seconds  had  taken  twice  its  size.  If  he  could 
only  cut  it  off!  But,  alas,  his  knife  was  in  his 
coat  —  and  before  he  could  get  halfway  to  that 
he  would  be  a  dead  shepherd. 

All  this  had  taken  not  so  long  as  you  have  been 


HE    HELD    HIS    HAND    ARM'S    LENGTH    BEFORE    HIM    AND    PULLED    THE    TRIGGER 


THE  BITE  OF  THE  PICHU-CUATE  71 

in  reading  it  —  nay,  scarce  the  time  in  which  one 
might  spell  the  longest  word  in  it ;  for  in  these 
crises  things  and  thoughts  move  swiftly,  and  one 
lives  fast.  Claudio  was  still  squeezing  his  thumb 
and  crying  aloud  for  a  knife,  when  his  eye  lit  on 
the  six-shooter.  Quick  as  a  flash,  he  sprang,  and 
caught  it  up,  and  cocked  it.  There  was  just  one 
cartridge  left. 

His  nerves  were  steady  now.  He  held  his  hand 
arm  s  length  before  him,  the  wounded  thumb  erect, 
drew  the  revolver  back  to  his  very  eye,  that  the 
ball  might  not  mangle  too  much,  and  thus  stop 
the  blood,  Avhich  must  flow,  and,  with  a  hand  as 
firm  as  if  it  had  been  carved  of  stone,  pulled  the 
trigger.  There  was  a  dull,  numb  sensation, 
hardly  a  pain,  in  all  that  side,  and  when  the 
smoke  cleared  from  his  eyes,  his  right  hand  was 
black  and  bleeding.  The  thumb  was  gone  clean 
at  the  lower  joint. 

There  is  one  man  in  New  Mexico  who  has  been 
bitten  by  the  pichu-cuate,  and  lives  to  tell  it  —  a 
tall,  powerful,  good-natured  shepherd,  with  four 
grim,  gray  furrows  in  his  black  hair,  and  the 
thumb  of  the  right  hand  missing.  But  Claudio 
seems  rather  proud  of  these  disfigurements,  and 
often  says  : 

"Who  talks  of  bargains?  For  so  cheaply  I 
bought  my  life  twice  in  one  hour." 


POH-HLAIK  THE  CAVE-BOY 


POEWELAIK.   THE    CAVE-BOY 

FIVE  hundred  years  ago  the  cloudless  sun  of 
New  Mexico  beat  as  blinding-white  upon  the 
Pu-ye  as  he  does  to-day,  and  played  as  quaint 
pranks  of  hide-and-seek  with  the  shadows  in  the 
face  of  that  dazzling  cliff  ;  stealing  now  behind 
the  royal  pines  in  front,  now  suddenly  leaping 
out  to  catch  the  dark  truants  that  went  dodging 
into  the  caves.  And  doubtless  he  was  as  unsuc- 
cessful then  as  now ;  for  the  shadows,  none  the 
more  decrepit  for  their  centuries,  are  still  mock- 
ing him,  still  creeping  around  sly  corners,  still 
defying  him  from  their  cavern  strongholds  till 
Mother  Night  shall  be  back  with  all  her  invinci- 
ble host,  and  rout  him  from  the  field.  It  is  not 
that  they  dislike  their  sharp-eyed  giant  of  a  play- 
fellow—  the  more  I  watch  them  the  more  I  am 
convinced  of  that.  But  he  is  so  big,  so  mighty, 
so  unconscious  of  his  power,  that  there  needs  care 
in  romping  with  him.  For  with  the  best  inten- 
tions in  the  world  he  is  too  heedless  ;  and  when 
he  catches  one  of  those  poor,  pigmy  playmates 
under  his  rushing  feet — pf!  there's  a  shadow 
76 


76  POH-HLAIK,    THE  CAVE-BOY 

dead  and  gone.  That's  the  trouble  with  having 
more  strength  than  wit. 

Yes,  the  sun  and  the  shadows  are  the  same,  and 
play  the  same  old  game  —  on  one  side  with  eager 
fire,  on  the  other  with  timid  gentleness.  The 
playground  has  changed  with  the  centuries,  but 
not  so  very  much.  It  is  the  same  noble  cliff,  lofty 
and  long  and  castellate,  towering  creamy  and  beau- 
tiful amid  the  outpost  pine-groves  of  the  Valles 
wilderness.  All  around  its  feet  the  lordly  trees 
stand  whispering,  and  its  head  is  matted  with 
curly  junipers.  The  wrinkles  are  no  sharper  in 
its  immemorial  face,  and  the  same  myriad  dusky 
dimples  are  there.  From  a  little  way  off  there 
seems  no  bit  of  change  in  it. 

But  ah  !  what  a  change  there  has  been,  after 
all !  For  the  very  silence  of  silences  lies  upon 
the  Pu-ye.  Only  the  deep  breath  of  the  pines, 
the  sudden  screech  of  the  pinonero l  blue  jay,  ever 
break  it  now.  And  time  was  when  the  boy  Sun 
and  the  Shadow-girls  had  here  a  thousand  mates 
in  their  gambols ;  mates  whose  voices  flew  like 
birds,  and  with  pattering  feet  amid  the  tufa  blocks, 
and  the  gleam  of  young  eyes  —  three  things  that 
sun  and  shadows  have  not,  nor  had  even  when 
they  were  so  much  younger.  Surely  both  must 
miss  the  noisy  playfellows  of  the  old  days,  and 
find  their  own  voiceless  sports  lonely  for  the 

1  Peen-yone-ay-ro,  a  large  and  brilliant  blue  jay,  which  lives 
largely  on  the  delicious  little  nuts  of  the  pinon. 


POH-HLAIK,    THE  CAVE-BOY  77 

change.  Once  these  jumbled  stones  were  tall 
houses  against  the  white  face  of  the  cliff;  and 
the  caves  into  which  the  shadows  so  crowd  to  rest 
were  homes  —  but  of  kindly  folk  that  minded  not 
the  invasion  nor  tried  to  drive  the  intruders  out 
by  boring  bigger  windows  in  the  rock.  They 
were  just  as  welcome  as  the  equally  irresponsible 
browny  babes  that  swarmed  in  and  out  with  them, 
and  made  all  the  noise.  For  in  the  Pu-ye*,  in  those 
days  before  the  world  knew  printing  or  gun- 
powder or  America,  life  was  life,  and  love  was 
love,  just  as  they  are  with  us  to-day.  If  ever  you 
live  long  enough,  and  wander  wide  enough  to  get 
the  one  highest  education — the  education  of  human- 
ity —  you  will  learn  that  man  is  man,  wherever 
and  whenever,  be  his  skin  white,  brown,  or  black. 
The  sun  paints  different  faces  on  him,  the  moun- 
tains or  the  plains'  or  the  sea  give  their  varying 
color  to  his  speech  and  habit ;  but  when  you  get 
under  the  surface  —  behold,  he  is  the  same  man 

the  world  over ! 

*** 

Then  the  great,  white  cliff  of  the  Pu-ye*  was 
not  lonely.  Hundreds  of  faint  smoke-spirals 
stole  up  its  face.  Here  and  there,  among  the 
gray  houses,  strode  a  stalwart  man  with  bow-case 
on  shoulder,  or  a  woman  bringing  water  in  an 
earthen  jar  upon  her  head.  As  for  children,  they 
were  everywhere  —  sitting  in  the  tufa-sand,  and 
sifting  it  through  their  fingers  ;  shouting  "  Hee- 


78  POH-HLAIK,    THE  CAVE-BOY 

tah-o6  "  from  their  hiding-places  among  the  great 
pumice  blocks  fallen  from  the  cliff ;  chasing  each 
other  over  the  rocks,  into  the  caves,  down  the 
slope,  in  that  very  game  of  tag  which  was  invented 
before  fire  was ;  making  mud-cakes  by  the  pools  of 
the  drying  brook ;  hunting  one  another  in  mimic 
war  among  the  pines,  or  turning  small  bows  and 
arrows  against  the  saucy  pinonero  whose  sky-blue 
feathers  should  deck  bare  heads  of  straight  black 
hair.  And  they  seemed  to  be  just  as  happy  about 
it  all  as  if  they  could  have  understood  the  colossal 
ignorance  of  half  a  world,  and  how  those  poor 
wise  men  over  the  water  hadn't  a  suspicion  that 
there  was  such  a  thing  as  this  American  continent, 
or  that  any  one  could  sail  around  the  globe  with- 
out falling  off  the  under  side.  That  was  rather 
presuming  of  these  swart  youngsters  to  go  ahead 
and  be  having  a  good  time  as  impudently  as  if 
they  had  not  been  heathens  in  a  continent  which 
had  no  right  to  exist  (since  "  no  one  as  was  any 
one  "  knew  it  existed) ;  but  so  they  did,  neverthe- 
less. 

Poh-hlaik,  up  by  the  cliff-corner  near  where  the 
estufa  of  the  Eagle  Clan  showed  its  dark  mouth, 
was  enjoying  himself  as  much  as  any  one  —  and 
somewhat  after  the  game  of  the  sun  and  the 
shadows.  He  was  a  tall,  sinewy  boy,  with  strong, 
white  teeth  coming  to  light  very  often,  and  supple 
hands  that  could  bend  a  bow  to  the  arrow-head. 
Just  now  he  was  down  on  all  fours;  crouching, 


POH-HLAIK,    THE  CAVE-BOY  79 

pouncing,  charging,  and  roaring  in  blood-curdling 
wise  when  he  had  time  between  laughs.  Mokeit- 
cha,  indeed !  I  should  like  to  see  the  mountain- 
lion  with  such  contented  victims !  Poh-hlaik's 
were  half  a  dozen  brown  little  sisters  and  cousins 
who  laughed  and  shrieked  and  ran  and  came  back 
to  be  devoured  again  by  this  insatiate  monster. 
Sometimes,  in  a  particularly  ferocious  rush,  some 
one  got  tipped  over  or  had  a  toe  stepped  upon  by 
Mokeitcha;  and  then  she  would  make  a  lip  and 
start  off  crying  —  whereat  the  ravening  animal 
would  pat  her  on  the  head  with  clumsy  tender- 
ness, and  call  back  her  dimples  with  a  still  fun- 
nier caper.  Really,  now,  Poh-hlaik  was  a  brother 
worth  having  —  more  fun  than  the  other  boys,  if 
he  was  so  big  and  strong  and  sometimes  hurt  one. 
He  didn't  mean  to,  anyhow  ! 

While  this  exciting  scene  was  in  progress,  a 
very  small  brown  boy,  with  a  very  tiny  bow, 
hopped  lazily  out  from  a  neighboring  cave-room, 
and,  seeing  the  carnage,  brightened  up  at  once. 
He  hunched  out  his  small  chest  with  the  effort, 
and  sent  a  wee,  headless  shaft  whizzing  with  so 
brave  an  aim  that  it  smote  Mokeitcha  quite  audibly 
upon  the  ribs,  and  that  astounded  beast  reared  up 
with  a  howl  and  began  to  rub  the  bruise. 

" Shya-yak !  The  hunter!"  screamed  the  girls 
in  great  glee  at  this  new  element  in  the  game, 
though  promptly  remorseful  that  their  amiable 
eater-up  had  been  pained.  "  Play  thou  too,  Ki-re! 


80  POH-HLAIK,    THE  CAVE-BOY 

But  not  shooting  so  hard,  or  thou  wilt  hurt  our 
lion!"  And  Poh-hlaik,  whose  good-natured  teeth 
were  already  showing  again,  added,  "  Yes,  be  thou 
the  hunter  —  only,  much  eye  how  thou  shootest!  " 

But  before  the  victims  had  been  devoured  many 
more  times  apiece,  or  Mbkeitcha  too  often  slain  by 
the  avenging  Nimrod,  a  sweet,  clear  voice  of  a 
woman  came  ringing: 

"Poh-hlaik!" 

"Here,  little  mother!  What  wilt  thou?"  and 
the  cougar  of  a  moment  ago  rose  on  his  hind  legs 
and  ran  obediently  to  where  a  woman  leaned 
through  the  tiny  doorway  of  a  cave.  The  adobe 
floor  was  spotlessly  clean,  and  her  modest  cotton 
tunic  shone  like  snow.  Both  floor  and  tunic 
should  have  looked  strange  enough  in  the  un- 
guessed  and  unguessing  world  beyond  seas  —  and 
the  features  too.  But  in  the  face  was  a  presence 
which  any  one  should  know,  down  to  a  smallest 
child  and  anywhere  —  the  mother-look  which  is 
the  same  in  all  the  world. 

"  A  goodly  man  will  he  be,"  she  murmured 
absently,  with  soft  eyes  resting  on  her  strong 
young  son.  "  Ay!  It  is  to  seek  thy  father,  carry- 
ing this  squash  and  parched  corn  and  dried  meat 
of  the  deer.  For  by  now  he  will  be  hungry,  so 
long  as  he  is  in  the  estufa  —  and  thou  too,  with 
thy  games.  And  bid  him  come,  if  he  will,  that 
he  may  hear  the  baby,  what  it  says!  "  Reaching 
back,  she  brought  forward  a  little  flat  cradle,  with 


POH-HLAIK,    THE  CAVE-BOY  81 

buckskin  flaps  laced  across  it;  and  from  under  its 
buckskin  hood  peered  a  brown  lump  of  flesh  with 
big  eyes  as  black  as  tar. 

"  En-nah,  handful  of  a  warrior  ;  En-nali,  little 
great  man  ! "  she  crooned,  tossing  the  bundle 
gently  upon  level  palms.  A  funny  little  crack  ran 
across  the  fatness,  and  the  eyes  lighted  up  almost 
as  if  they  knew  something,  and  from  that  un- 
certain cavity  came  a  decided  "  da-da !"  —  which 
is  just  as  far  as  a  baby  of  his  age  has  got 
with  all  the  civilization  and  appliances  of  the 
year  1897.  We  start  about  even ;  and  it  is 
fairly  wonderful  in  knocking  about  the  world  to 
find  how  the  first  sounds  that  come  to  baby  lips 
are  everywhere  the  same.  There  is  no  home  nor 
blood  where  "papa"  and  "mamma"  are  not  under- 
stood. English  words?  Not  a  bit  of  it!  They 
are  human  words  —  everywhere  current,  every- 
where dear ;  perhaps  remnants  to  us,  with  a  few 
more  of  childhood,  from  before  the  tower  of  Babel. 
And  everywhere  there  is  as  much  joy  when  the 
uncertain  lips  first  say  "  da-da  "  as  was  now  in  the 
house  of  Kwe-ya. 

"  Already  he  is  to  talk  !  "  cried  Poh-hlaik,  with 
a  delighted  grin ;  and  patting  his  mother  on  the 
shoulder  and  the  baby  on  the  cheek,  he  went  run- 
ning and  leaping  over  the  rocks  like  a  young  deer, 
carrying  the  buckskin  bundle.  Directly  he  was 
at  the  estufa  of  the  Eagle  People,  where  the  men 
of  his  father's  clan  all  slept  as  well  as  counselled ; 


82  POH-HLAIK,    THE  CAVE-BOY 

for  in  the  queer  Indian  society,  which  is  not  so- 
ciety at  all,  the  men  used  to  live  in  their  big 
sacred  room,  but  the  women  and  children  in  their 
little  houses.  Poh-hlaik  entered  the  small  door 
and  stood  a  moment  before  his  eyes  grew  used 
to  the  darkness.  Then  he  saw  his  father  sitting 
against  the  wall,  smoking  a  rush;  and  went  to 
him.  "  Here  is  to  eat,"  he  said,  handing  the 
bundle.  "  And  my  mother  says  if  you  will  come  ! 
For  already  the  small  one  calls  you." 

"  He  does  ?  It  is  good  —  I  will  go  !  "  And  the 
tall,  stern-faced  Indian  rose  with  slow  dignity 
which  was  belied  by  something  in  his  eyes  and 
voice.  Like  some  men  I  have  remotely  heard  of 
in  modern  times,  Pya-po  was  not  so  "  weak  "  as  to 
betray  feeling ;  but  he  was  strong  enough  to  have 
it  —  and  sometimes  a  very  tiny  token  of  it  would 
leak  out  in  spite  of  him.  Now,  though  nothing 
would  have  induced  him  to  show  unseemly  haste, 
he  was  clearly  losing  no  steps  ;  and  already  the 
stately  strides  had  taken  him  several  yards  as  he 
turned  his  head  to  say  to  Poh-hlaik : 

"  Son,  at  the  White-Corn  People's  estufa,  if  thou 
see  Enque-Enque,  tell  him  I  would  speak  with  him 
before  the  night." 

"  So  I  will  say,"  answered  the  boy,  respectfully, 
turning  to  go  to  his  own  estufa;  for  since  his 
mother  was  of  the  White-Corn  People,  so  was 
Poh-hlaik.  With  Indians  almost  everywhere  de- 
scent is  reckoned  from  the  mother's  side,  and  not, 


POH-HLAIK,    THE  CAVE-BOY  83 

as  with  us,  from  the  father's.  And  as  a  man  can- 
not marry  into  his  own  clan,  his  sons  inevitably 
belong  to  a  different  estufa. 

Sure  enough,  Enque-Enque  was  at  the  man- 
house  of  the  White-Corn  Clan ;  and  he  received 
the  message  with  a  grunt.  He  was  a  little,  sharp- 
faced  man,  with  a  look  not  altogether  pleasant. 
If  Pya-po,  with  his  mighty  head  and  frame,  had  a 
lion-like  air,  this  other  as  clearly  suggested  the 
fox ;  and  even  the  acute  features  contributed  less 
to  this  impression  than  a  way  he  had  of  cocking 
his  chin  down  and  to  one  side,  and  looking  at 
something  else,  but  seeing  you  from  the  ends  of 
his  eyes.  You  never  could  tell  just  when  Enque- 
Enque  was  looking  at  you  and  when  he  wasn't. 
If  you  were  not  staring  straight  at  him,  you  felt 
his  eyes ;  but  if  you  looked,  they  had  not  moved 
a  wink,  but  were  fixed  bias  on  the  ground.  And 
it  is  a  thing  I  have  had  occasion  to  learn,  that  if 
you  meet  one  of  these  men  who  sees  all  you  do 
without  even  using  "half  an  eye,"  you  will  have 
none  too  many  eyes  to  watch  him  if  you  use  all 
you  have. 

Enque-Enque  did  not  so  much  as  look  at  Poh- 
hlaik  ;  but  the  boy,  who  could  have  given  lessons 
in  such  things  to  any  of  us,  had  he  been  able  to 
phrase  what  he  knew,  understood  that  the  sub- 
ordinate shaman  had  weighed  his  face  to  a  feather. 
Not  that  there  was  any  secret  to  read  there  —  he 
had  merely  delivered  a  message,  of  which  he  knew 


84  POH-HLAIK,    THE  CAVE-BOY 

no  import  back  of  the  words.  He  did  not  like 
Enque-Enque ;  but  his  face  said  nothing  about  that, 
and  his  tone  was  the  respectful  one  that  no  Pueblo 
boy  ever  failed  to  use  to  an  elder.  And  now  he 
suddenly  felt  afraid  of  his  father's  fifth  assistant 
—  suddenly  and  without  the  slightest  tangible 
excuse,  for  nothing  whatever  had  happened. 

"  Shall  I  say  to  my  father  anything?  "  he  vent- 
ured. 

"  I  will  go,"  answered  the  man,  dryly ;  which 
Poh-hlaik  needed  no  interpreter  to  tell  him  meant 
also,  "now  clear  out,  boy." 

"  But  that  is  a  funny  one !  "  Poh-hlaik  was 
thinking  to  himself  as  he  went  skipping  down  the 
slope ;  for  as  he  turned  to  come  away  he  had 
caught  glimpse  of  about  an  inch  of  notched  reed 
projecting  from  the  lion-skin  case  on  Enque- 
Enque's  back.  "  For  the  feathers  are  put  differ- 
ently from  ours.  And  it  will  be  longer,  too,  since 
it  stands  above  the  rest." 

It  was  a  very  trifling  matter  to  annoy  one  ;  but 
that  arrow  seemed  to  stick  in  the  boy's  mind. 
At  the  foot  of  the  slope,  where  some  enormous 
boulders  from  the  cliff  hid  the  village  from  him, 
his  gait  dropped  to  a  walk;  and  presently  he  sat 
down  upon  a  block  of  tufa  and  began  looking 
very  intently  at  his  feet.  Whatever  he  saw  there 
did  not  seem  to  enlighten  the  perplexity  which 
knit  his  brows  ;  for  in  a  few  moments  he  rose,  and 
with  a  still  clouded  face  turned  to  the  left  and 


POH-HLAIK,    THE  CAVE-BOY  85 

began  climbing  a  zigzag  trail.  Here  the  cliff 
tapers  into  a  long  slope  ;  arid  after  a  short  trudg- 
ing over  the  debris,  he  came  upon  the  brow  of  the 
mesa  among  the  junipers.  A  little  farther  yet, 
and  he  suddenly  stepped  from  the  woods  into  a 
large  clearing,  in  whose  centre  stood  a  great 
square  pueblo,  three  stories  high,  built  of  blocks 
of  the  same  white  tufa  from  the  cliff.  Here  were 
other  brown  folk,  little  and  big ;  for  this  was  the 
"  upstairs  town "  of  the  cave  pueblo,  its  ultimate 
refuge  and  fortress  —  and  the  permanent  home  of 
some  of  its  people. 

" Kdki!"  sung  out  a  voice;  and  a  boy  of  Poh- 
hlaik's  own  age  came  scrambling  down  a  ladder 
from  the  tall  house-tops.  "  I  was  just  to  go  for 
thee.  Come,  let  us  make  a  hunt  in  the  canon,  if 
we  may  find  the  Little-Old-Mountain-Man 1 ;  for 
he  is  now  very  fat." 

"It  is  well,"  answered  Poh-hlaik,  soberly. 
"And  if  not  him,  we  shall  at  least  get  trout." 

Both  boys  had  their  bow-cases  on  their  backs; 
and  in  five  minutes  they  had  descended  the  slope 
and  were  crossing  the  plateau  to  the  brink  of  the 
caiion.  This  rift,  three  or  four  hundred  feet  deep, 
was  shadowy  with  royal  pines  and  musical  with  a 
lovely  brook  —  as  it  still  is.  Poh-hlaik  and  Kah-be 
descended  the  precipitous  sides  noiselessly,  and 
began  creeping  along  the  brook  in  the  thick 
underbrush.  Fat  trout  flashed  in  the  pools;  but 

i  Wild  turkey. 


86  POH-HLAIK,    THE  CAVE-SOT 

the  boys  paid  no  attention  to  them,  for  from  a 
thicket  on  the  other  side  of  a  natural  glade  came 
the  "  gobble-obble-obble  "  and  then  the  skirr  of  the 
wild  turkey. 

"  No  !  "  whispered  Poh-hlaik  to  his  companion's 
suggestion.  "We  will  wait  here  —  for  he  will 
come  out  to  the  brook  with  his  family ;  and  if  we 
try  to  get  to  the  other  side,  he  can  run  without 
our  seeing  him,  for  the  bushes." 

They  lay  quietly  in  a  thick  clump  of  alders, 
grasping  each  his  bow  with  an  arrow  at  the  string. 
The  gobbler  repeated  his  cry  —  and  suddenly  it 
was  echoed  from  behind  them.  The  boys  ex- 
changed looks,  and  Kah-be  was  about  to  speak; 
but  Poh-hlaik  put  his  finger  to  his  lips,  with  a 
flash  of  the  eyes. 

Just  then  there  was  a  faint  sighing  sound  over- 
head ;  and  close  in  front  of  the  thicket  whence  the 
first  gobble  had  come,  an  arrow,  falling  from  the 
sky,  stood  quivering,  its  head  buried  in  the  earth. 
A  tiny  rustle  in  the  bushes,  and  a  dark  arm 
reached  out  and  plucked  the  arrow  back  into 
shelter. 

Kah-be  wore  a  dumbfounded  look,  but  Poh- 
hlaik's  face  showed  more  of  terror.  He  thought 
he  had  seen  that  arrow  before !  Now  there  were 
no  more  turkey-calls ;  but  dead  silence  reigned  in 
the  canon  save  for  the  whisper  of  the  pines  to  the 
chuckling  brook. 

'•'•Now  he  will  not  come,"  whispered   Kah-be. 


POH-HLAIK,    THE  CAVE-BOY  87 

"Let  us  creep  up  the  brook,  and  around  upon 
him." 

"  For  your  heart,  quiet  you  !  "  breathed  Poh- 
hlaik  in  the  ear  of  his  chum.  "  Do  you  not  see 
that  these  are  no  turkeys?  And  that  hand  —  is 
that  a  hand  of  the  grandchildren  of  the  Sun  ?  It 
is  for  us  to  get  to  the  pueblo  —  now,  and  unseen ! 
For  not  our  lives  only,  but  many  more,  are  in  the 
shadow.  See  !  "  he  whispered  nervously,  pointing 
at  the  brook  ;  for  two  or  three  fresh  alder-leaves 
came  slipping  down  the  current,  and  then  there 
was  the  faintest  tinge  in  the  limpid  water,  as  of 
sand  stirred  up.  "  Come,  but  more  noiseless  and 
hidden  than  the  snakes !  " 

He  stretched  upon  his  belly  and  began  moving 
down-stream,  lizard-like,  the  still  puzzled  Kah-be 
following  him.  When  they  had  traversed  a  few 
hundred  feet  in  this  fashion,  Poh-hlaik  turned  to 
the  right,  up  a  little  ravine  dense  with  brush.  It 
led  to  the  top  of  the  canon ;  and  in  a  few  minutes 
the  two  boys  peered  from  the  last  bush  out  around 
the  scattered  pines  of  the  table-land.  There  was 
nothing  to  be  seen  or  heard. 

"  Now,  friend,  it  is  to  run  as  for  life  —  and  not 
straight,  but  dodging  between  the  trees.  Come  ! " 
And  springing  from  their  shelter,  Poh-hlaik  dashed 
off.  Kah-be  was  at  his  heels  ;  for  though  his  face 
showed  that  he  was  still  mystified  by  these  strange 
performances,  he  was  one  of  those  who  follow. 

There  was  no  living  thing  in  sight,  but  before 


88  POH-HLAIK,    THE  CAVE-BOY 

the  runners  had  made  four  bounds,  there  was  a 
vicious  ish-oo!  and  an  arrow  split  the  lobe  of 
Poh-hlaik's  ear  and  fell  five  yards  ahead  of  him. 
Kah-be  gave  a  wild  yell,  and  sprang  ahead  like  a 
scared  fawn  ;  but  as  for  Poh-hlaik,  he  only  clapped 
his  hand  to  his  ear  even  as  he  swerved  past  a  big 
pine  so  as  to  throw  it  in  line  behind  him.  There 
was  another  whizz,  but  not  so  near ;  and  then  no  fur- 
ther token  as  the  lads  sped  down  the  grassy  plain. 
They  did  not  slacken  speed  till  they  had  turned 
the  corner  of  the  hill  and  were  under  the  long, 
white  cliff  ;  and  still  at  a  smart  run  came  to  the 
cave-village. 

"  Not  a  word,  now !  "  said  Poh-hlaik,  sternly. 
"  For  none  must  know  save  the  Men  of  Power. 
I  go  to  tell  my  father,  and  he  will  know  what  to 
do.  Mind  —  not  a  breath  !  " 

Kah-be  promised,  though  a  little  sullenly  at  the 
loss  of  the  sensation  he  wished  to  noise  abroad, 
and  went  off  along  the  cliff.  Poh-hlaik  drew 
his  father  into  an  inner  cave-room  and  there  told 
him  everything  just  as  it  had  befallen,  and  with- 
out comment  or  surmises.  Only,  at  the  end,  he 
could  not  refrain  from  adding,  "As  for  the  arrow 
which  went  as  message  to  the  bdrbaro,  I  think  I 
saw  it  once  before." 

"  Ahu  ?  was  it  with  Enque-Enque  ?  For  if 
there  be  a  traitor,  it  is  he.  It  is  because  he  is 
thought  to  be  treating  with  the  Tin-ne* 1  that  I 

1The  tribe  now  known  as  Navajos. 


POH-HLAIK,   THE  CAVE-BOY  89 

have  summoned  him.  Two  say  that  they  have 
seen  him  coming  from  where  the  hostiles  were ; 
and  other  things  point  that  way  —  for  he  has 
never  been  content  since  the  elders  laughed  at 
his  pretensions  to  be  chief  shaman.  In  his  quiver 
was  the  arrow,  eh?  Well  hast  thou  done,  son! 
Keep  the  heart  of  a  man,  and  the  still  tongue  ; 
and  as  for  me,  we  will  see  what  is  to  do." 

There  was  but  one  thing  to  be  done,  in  the 
opinion  of  the  captain  of  war.  Those  who  had 
shot  at  two  boys  of  the  pueblo  must  be  of  the 
savage  Tin-n6  who  from  time  immemorial  had 
harassed  the  pueblo.  Since  they  were  in  the 
canon,  he  would  lead  a  war-party,  and  teach  them ! 
Old  Maquah  had  been  dead  but  a  year  ;  and  this 
was  his  successor's  first  chance.  He  would  have 
no  barbarians  prowling  around  the  peace-loving 
cave-town  of  the  Pu-ye  ! 

In  half  an  hour  a  strong  band  of  warriors, 
headed  by  the  war-captain  and  the  chief  shaman, 
were  stealing  down  into  the  canon,  noiselessly  as 
so  many  shadows.  "  Come  thou  also,"  P-ya-po 
had  said  to  his  son;  "for  to-day  may  be  the  chance 
to  prove  thyself  a  man." 

But  Poh-hlaik  replied,  "  Let  me  stay  here  by  the 
mother  ;  for  in  my  heart  something  tells  me  to." 

"As  thou  wilt,"  his  father  had  given  short 
answer.  And  as  he  went  away  he  was  thinking, 
"  Will  it  be  that  my  first  son  is  mouse-hearted  ?  " 


90  POH-HLAIK,    THE  CAVE-BOY 

But  it  was  not  that  which  had  kept  the  boy  at 
home.  He  dared  not  confess  it  to  his  father,  but 
to  him  the  plan  of  the  war-captain  seemed  reck- 
less. "  Perhaps  it  is  even  so  that  Enque-Enque 
wishes!  For  else,  why  did  he  shoot  at  me  again, 
after  failing  to  kill?  Was  it  not  that  I  might 
report  there  were  Idrbaros  in  the  canon,  that  he 
might  get  the  men  sent  out  that  way  ?  But  how 
shall  one  dare  think  these  things  when  the  Men 
of  Power  have  decided  otherwise  ?  " 

Yet  in  spite  of  the  inbred  reverence  for  author- 
ity, Poh-hlaik  could  not  convince  himself  that 
all  was  well ;  and  he  wandered  about  restlessly. 
In  the  sunset  glow  the  men  sat  in  little  knots, 
talking  of  the  matter,  ill  at  ease ;  for  after  so 
many  months  of  repose,  the  savage  foe  was  back 
at  the  old  game.  Dusk  was  closing  in  as  Enque- 
Enque  came  strolling  around  the  western  turn  of 
the  cliff,  his  stone  hoe  in  his  hand.  He  had  been 
at  his  field,  up  the  plateau,  he  explained  care- 
lessly ;  and  violent  were  his  diatribes  against  the 
Navajos  when  he  heard  the  news. 

Even  as  he  spoke  there  came  a  far  clamor  of 
yells  of  rage,  mingled  with  the  fierce  war-cry. 

"  They  have  trapped  ours!  "  cried  Enque-Enque, 
loudly,  leaping  upon  a  rock.  "Come!  We  must 
run  to  their  help !  For  it  seems  the  enemy  are  many." 

A  hundred  men  sprang  forward  at  the  word  of 
the  sub-shaman,  clutching  their  bows ;  but  Poh- 
hlaik  stood  before  them,  crying  : 


POH-HLAIK,    THE  CAVE-BOY  91 

"Not  so!  This  same  is  the  traitor  who  has 
sold  us  to  the  Tin-ne' !  And  now  he  would  strip 
the  town  of  its  men!  Go  not,  if  ye  will  mind  the 
words  of  a  boy!  " 

It  was  an  unheard-of  thing  thus  to  defy  a  medi- 
cine man;  and  in  the  swift  inspiration  of  the  mo- 
ment Poh-hlaik  was  committing  an  unspeakable 
sacrilege.  But  even  so,  he  stood  erect,  so  stern 
and  gray-faced  that  grizzled  men  looked  at  him  in 
awe,  and  back  at  the  accused. 

Enque-Enque's  foxy  air  did  not  change  in  the 
least.  "  Bewitched  is  the  boy ! "  he  sneered,  turn- 
ing his  eyes  back  along  the  cliff.  Then  a  sudden 
light  broke  across  his  face,  and  from  his  throat 
poured  a  shrill  whoop  —  even  as  he  drove  a  shaft 
through  the  neck  of  the  first  lieutenant  of  war. 
In  answer  there  rose  a  hideous  yell  from  all  about, 
and  the  darkening  rocks  swarmed  with  darker 
forms,  and  the  twilight  buzzed  with  wasps  that 
had  need  to  sting  but  once.  A  score  of  the  men 
of  the  Pu-ye  fell  before  one  had  time  for  thought ; 
and  among  them  was  Poh-hlaik,  an  obsidian- 
tipped  reed  through  his  shoulder,  and  another 
deep  in  his  thigh. 

The  conspirator's  plans  had  worked  very  fairly. 
His  hated  chief  and  a  majority  of  the  warriors 
had  gone  forth  to  the  ambush  he  had  laid;  and 
though  he  had  failed  to  send  off  the  rest  of  the 
fighting  strength  of  the  town,  the  total  surprise 
was  like  to  balance  that.  The  startled  Pueblos 


92  POH-HLA1K,    THE  CAVE-BOY 

fought  desperately ;  but  the  savages  were  nearly 
two  to  one,  and  pushed  them  to  the  very  doors  of 
the  caves. 

As  for  Poh-hlaik,  he  had  fallen  between  two 
great  tufa-blocks,  faint  with  the  pain  and  loss  of 
blood.  For  a  few  moments  he  lay  there  ;  and 
then  began  dragging  himself  toward  his  mother's 
house.  She  was  alone  with  the  little  ones — he 
must  try  to  protect  them  somehow  !  Around  him 
raged  the  fight.  The  air  hurtled  with  arrows, 
and  everywhere  were  savage  whoops  and  dying 
screams,  and  the  sickly  smell  of  blood.  Once  two 
grappled  foemen  wrestled  across  him,  wringing 
a  howl  of  pain  from  him  with  their  tread  ;  and 
again  he  had  to  crawl  over  a  stark  form.  But  he 
hunched  himself  painfully  along,  behind  shelter- 
ing boulders,  till  he  was  close  to  the  cave  that  was 
his  home.  He  was  about  to  call  out,  when  sud- 
denly against  the  darkening  sky  he  saw  a  figure 
backing  out  of  the  low  doorway,  dragging  some- 
thing. Had  he  been  standing,  he  could  not  have 
made  it  out ;  but  from  his  stony  bed  that  dark 
silhouette  against  the  west  was  unmistakable. 
It  was  Enque-Enque  !  His  bow  was  gone  ;  but 
between  his  teeth  was  something  which  could  be 
only  the  cruel  obsidian  knife,  and  both  his  hands 
were  clenched  in  the  long  hair  of  a  woman  —  who 
seemed  to  be  bracing  against  the  doorway  to  keep 
from  being  dragged  out. 

Poh-hlaik's  heart  lost  its  count  for  a  moment. 


ALREADY  HER   HEAD  AND    SHOULDERS   WERE   THROUGH   THE    DOOR 


POH-HLAIK,    THE  CAVE-BOY  93 

His  father's  enemy  knew  well  where  to  strike  ! 
And  at  the  thought  of  the  fate  that  overhung  his 
mother,  he  turned  deathly  sick.  But  it  was  only 
for  an  instant. 

The  victim's  hold  was  slipping  —  already  her 
head  and  shoulders  were  through  the  door. 
Enque-Enque,  as  he  hauled  away,  was  hidden 
now  by  a  tall  tufa-block  —  only  his  long,  sinewy 
arms  and  their  prey  showed  against  the  sky. 

"  The  Trues  give  me  eyes  ! "  breathed  Poh- 
hlaik  devoutly,  tugging  the  bow-string  to  his  ear, 
though  the  effort  seemed  to  drive  a  hundred  darts 
through  the  wounded  shoulder.  It  was  an  ill 
mark  in  that  grim  dusk  and  from  the  ground  ; 
but  the  twang  of  the  cord  was  followed  by  a  howl 
of  rage.  The  head  shot  within  the  doorway  again  ; 
and  Enque-Enque  sprawled  backward,  rose,  and 
fled  into  the  gloom  —  his  two  hands  spitted  one 
to  the  other  by  the  clever  shaft. 

And  then  there  was  a  new  uproar  —  but  this 
time  from  the  east.  And  arrows  rained  doubly 
thick,  and  the  enemy-yell  of  the  Hero-Brothers 
soared  above  the  savage  howls  of  the  Tin-ne". 
P-ya-po  and  his  men  were  back,  and  the  barbarians 
fled  down  the  slopes,  leaving  their  dead  among 
the  rocks.  It  would  be  long  before  they  should 
forget  the  Pu-ye.  P-ya-po's  counsel  had  saved  the 
impetuous  war-captain  from  the  full  disaster  of 
the  ambuscade  ;  and  scattering  that  small  force 
by  a  flank  movement,  they  had  hurried  back  to 


94  POH-HLAIK,    THE  CAVE-BOY 

the  village,  well  understanding,  now,  the  whole 
manoeuvre. 

When  all  was  over,  and  the  chief  shaman  came 
to  his  wife's  house,  he  found  a  badly  wounded  lad 
crouching  within  the  door,  his  bow  clutched  tightly 
and  his  lips  set.  "  I  have  kept  them  safe  for  thee, 
father,"  he  said  huskily  —  and  with  the  words 
lurched,  fainting,  to  one  side.  P-y&-po  laid  him 
tenderly  along  the  floor,  and  sat  beside  him.  "  The 
heart  and  the  hand  of  a  man  !  "  he  said.  "  And 
when  he  is  well  of  these  wounds,  he  shall  take  the 
place  of  him  who  has  gone." 

"  He  is  his  father's  son  !  "  whispered  Kwe*-ya, 
proudly.  And  just  then  the  little  one  who  had 
slept  in  the  jaws  of  death,  stirred  in  the  buck- 
skin cradle  and  called  "da-da." 


THE  JAWBONE   TELEGRAPH 


THE   JAWBONE   TELEGRAPH 

THE  story-tellers  would  have  us  believe  that  the 
hero  always  carries  the  hero  trademark  on  his  face. 
He  is  handsome  and  brilliant-looking  and  clear- 
featured  and  broad-shouldered  and  all  that ;  and 
maybe  you  have  wondered  why  you  did  not  en- 
counter this  type  somewhere,  to  know  him  for  a 
hero  at  a  glance. 

But  I  know  better.  I  have  run  across  a  good 
many  heroes,  boys  and  men ;  and  hardly  one  of 
them  "looked  it." 

Now  there  was  Patsy.  If  ever  there  was  a  lad 
whom  the  romancer  would  not  pick  out  as  a  hero, 
he  was  the  one.  He  was  a  sleepy-looking  Texas 
boy,  snub-nosed  and  weak  of  chin,  with  clothes  that 
seemed  to  be  barely  on  speaking  terms  with  him. 

If  you  had  rounded  up  all  the  "no-account" 
looking  boys  in  Arizona,  Patsy  would  have  taken 
the  prize  as  the  most  unpromising  of  them  all. 
And  no  one  would  have  been  more  satisfied  of  the 
justice  of  the  award  than  Patsy  himself.  He  had 
as  little  suspicion  as  had  any  one  who  knew  him 
that  he  carried  about  him  any  claim  to  special 
consideration;  which  is,  after  all,  a  very  good 
starting-point  for  the  real  hero. 
H  97 


98  THE  JAWBONE  TELEGRAPH 

Patsy  had  gone  to  Waco  at  fifteen  and  learned 
telegraphy  by  the  sufferance  of  an  operator  whom 
he  knew.  Study  of  any  sort  was  not  easy  to  him  ; 
but  in  his  stolid  way  he  had  mastered  as  much 
as  his  instructor  knew ;  and  some  time  later  the 
operator,  to  get  rid  of  him,  helped  him  into  a 
position  over  in  New  Mexico. 

Then  he  had  a  chance  to  go  out  on  the  line  of 
the  Atlantic  and  Pacific  Railroad,  to  a  little  station 
where  there  was  better  chance  of  promotion  ;  and 
when  he  invented  the  famous  Jawbone  Telegraph 
he  was  night-man  at  Fairview,  the  sort  of  metrop- 
olis still  common  in  Arizona. 

Fairview  contained  a  telegraph  office  twelve  by 
sixteen ;  a  section-house  which  overflowed  with 
the  American  "  boss  "  and  his  wife  and  five  Mexi- 
can laborers ;  a  pig-pen  made  of  worn-out  ties  ;  a 
pet  deer  and  an  outlook. 

The  sprawling  junipers  crowded  it  on  all  sides ; 
and  northeast  opened  the  rocky  jaws  of  Johnson's 
Canon,  the  long,  wild  scar  in  the  shoulders  of  the 
San  Francisco  range  by  which  the  railroad  slid 
down  from  the  great  pitch  of  the  Arizona  Divide, 
more  than  seven  thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  on 
its  lonely  way  to  the  far  Rio  Colorado. 

The  canon  was  a  bad  place,  and  yet  the  only 
route  by  which  a  railroad  could  jump  off  the 
mountains  without  breaking  its  neck. 

The  grades  ran  up  to  one  hundred  and  thirty- 
seven  feet  —  a  hill  at  which  an  Eastern  engineer 


THE  JAWBONE  TELEGRAPH  99 

would  look  with  horror.  The  monster  ten- wheel- 
ers, each  twice  to  three  times  as  heavy  as  an  East- 
ern locomotive,  panted  hard  in  bringing  a  load  of 
ten  cars  up  the  hill ;  and  coming  down  that  steep 
twenty  miles  from  Supai,  trains  crept  as  if  holding 
their  breath. 

The  track  lay  along  a  narrow  shelf  hewn  from 
the  face  of  the  savage  cliff;  and  from  the  car 
windows  one  looked  far  down  on  one  side  into 
the  gorge,  and  on  the  other  up  to  the  beetling 
rocks. 

On  the  shelf,  crowded  between  the  great  iron 
bridge,  which  spanned  a  side  canon,  and  the  tun- 
nel, was  a  little  box  of  a  house ;  and  there  lived 
deaf  old  George,  an  Englishman,  the  faithful 
watchman  of  that  very  important  stretch  of 
track. 

Ten  miles  downhill  was  the  eight-house  "  city  " 
of  Ash  Fork.  Thirteen  miles  uphill  —  twenty- 
three  miles  from  Ash  Fork,  and  at  nearly  three 
thousand  feet  higher  altitude  —  was  Williams, 
with  threescore  people.  Outside  of  these  it  was 
forty  miles  in  any  direction  to  a  human  being. 

Binn,  the  agent  and  day-operator,  was  not  a 
very  cheerful  companion.  But  Patsy's  best  chum 
was  —  Patsy.  Coming  off  watch  at  six  in  the 
morning,  he  slept  in  a  blanket  on  the  high 
counter  till  early  afternoon  ;  then  generally  sal- 
lied out  alone  "  fur  a  pasear  wid  Patsy "  until 
time  to  take  his  task  again  at  six  in  the  evening. 


100  THE  JAWBONE  TELEGRAPH 

There  was  game  back  in  the  hills ;  and  the  echoes 
came  to  know  well  the  bark  of  the  battered  old 
Henry  rifle. 

One  hot  August  afternoon  Patsy  woke  some- 
what earlier  than  usual ;  and  sliding  off  the 
counter  in  the  telegraph  office  took  the  anti- 
quated brass-mounted  rifle  from  the  corner  and 
stroked  it. 

"  I'm  goin'  up  yan  side  o'  the  tunnel,"  he  said. 
"  De  Mexicans  seed  a  wild-cat  up  dere  yisterday, 
'n'  I  'How  hit's  my  cat  —  ef  I  git  it." 

Binn  said  "  Mm !  "  being  too  sleepy  to  care  to 
say  anything  more  important ;  and  Patsy  shuffled 
out  and  off. 

It  was  not  exactly  the  day  most  people  would 
choose  for  a  walk,  as  few  days  of  an  Arizona 
summer  are  ;  but  Patsy  did  not  particularly  mind 
the  blinding  glow.  It  was  good  to  get  out,  even 
if  the  sun  did  "  come  down  do  nigh  way ;  "  and 
he  shambled  up  the  track  at  a  rapid  gait. 

In  an  hour  he  had  crossed  the  first  iron  bridge, 
and  was  nearing  the  second  and  the  tunnel.  A 
scurrying  cottontail  rabbit  ran  down  a  cleft  of  the 
rocks  and  out  of  sight  ;  and  Patsy  clambered 
clumsily  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  gorge,  hoping 
for  a  shot.  But  the  rabbit  had  disappeared. 

Patsy  walked  a  little  way  up  the  dry  stream- 
bed  ;  and  finding  nothing,  climbed  up  again  the 
five  hundred  rocky  feet  to  the  track  beside  the 
little  watch-house. 


THE  JAWBONE  TELEGRAPH  101 

The  door  was  open,  but  old  George  was  not  to 
be  seen.  This  was  odd,  for  he  always  locked  the 
door  when  he  went  out,  and  at  other  times  he  was 
generally  sitting  on  the  sill. 

Patsy  crossed  the  little  twelve-foot  shelf  which 
was  the  old  man's  front  yard,  and  poked  his  head 
into  the  doorway.  The  tiny  cheerless  room  was 
very  still  and  hot.  The  sunlight  through  the  door 
made  a  path  of  warped  gold  to  the  rough  bunk 
with  its  tattered  quilts. 

On  the  broken  chair  dozed  the  fat  yellow  cat,  old 
George's  only  companion.  The  battered  frying- 
pan  and  the  tomato-can  which  served  as  a  coffee- 
pot stood  upon  the  rusty  stove.  Funny  where 
George  was,  though  !  These  rude  belongings 
were  treasures  to  him,  and  he  always  guarded 
them  jealously  against  tramps  who  were  "  fired 
from  the  train  "  and  haunted  the  canon  to  "  jump  " 
another. 

As  Patsy  marvelled,  he  caught  sight  of  some- 
thing which  made  his  heart  stand  still.  It  was 
only  a  large,  rough  boot  projecting  from  under 
the  bed,  whose  tumbled  covers  hid  all  but  the 
lower  half.  To  Patsy  this  meant  a  great  deal. 
George  certainly  never  went  out  barefoot,  and  he 
had  but  one  pair  of  boots. 

Patsy  craned  his  long  neck  farther  forward. 
Ah  !  Around  that  boot  was  a  strong,  tight  cord, 
that  barely  showed,  touching  the  very  edge  of  the 
dragging  quilt. 


102  THE  JAWBONE  TELEGRAPH 

Patsy  was  at  the  bed  in  one  jump,  and  clutched 
the  boot.  It  ivasrft  empty  !  He  tugged  at  it, 
and  a  shabby,  heavy  form  yielded  reluctantly 
to  his  hauling,  and  appeared  from  under  the 
bed! 

Poor  old  George  !  With  feet  lashed  tight  to- 
gether by  a  heavy  cord,  and  hands  bound  behind 
his  back,  a  jagged  lump  of  coal  forced  savagely 
into  his  mouth  for  a  gag,  and  an  ugly  welt  across 
the  gray  face  where  they  had  struck  him  with  a 
six-shooter  before  overcoming  him  ! 

But  the  sharp  old  eyes  were  open  —  he  wasn't 
dead! 

Patsy  pulled  out  his  knife  and  cut  the  cruel 
cords,  but  the  old  man  was  too  badly  cramped  to 
be  able  to  move  his  stiffened  limbs.  Then  with  a 
violent  wrench  Patsy  pulled  the  lump  from  the 
distended  and  bleeding  jaws,  and  brought  a  cup 
of  water  and  poured  it  down  the  old  man's  throat, 
lifting  the  gray  head  gently  on  his  arm. 

The  boy's  instinct  had  warned  him  that  it  was 
a  time  for  great  caution.  He  laid  his  lips  to  the 
old  man's  ear  and  whispered  shrilly,  "  Wot's  dey 
done  to  yo',  George  ?  " 

The  deaf  watchman  mumbled,  painfully  low  : 

"  Hold-ups  !  They  gave  me  one  with  a  pistol 
and  tied  me  hup.  I  thinks  as  'ow  they  means  to 
hold  up  Number  Two." 

"  But  wot'll  we  do  ?  "  whispered  the  boy  in  the 
same  penetrating  tone,  which  George  could  hear 


THE  JAWBONE  TELEGRAPH  103 

better  than  a  shout.  "  Dey  shore  mustn't  hold  up 
de  train.  Whar  is  dey  ?  " 

"  I  donno,"  answered  George.  "  I  f ahncy  they're 
putting  rocks  into  the  tunnel,  to  wreck  'er,  for 
they  'ad  crowbars.  But  be  awake,  lad  !  They  be 
bad  !  You  knows  the  new  law,  that  train-robbing 
is  death  in  Harizona,  and  they  won't  stop  at 
nothink.  They  mus'  know  some  big  shipment  o' 
bullion's  going  heast,  and  they  wants  it." 

Patsy  thought  a  moment.  There  was  unusual 
sparkle  in  his  sleepy  eyes. 

"  Wai,"  he  said,  "  we  shore  hefto  try  to  stop  'em. 
Yo'  cain't  walk  yet-a-bit,  yo're  thet  cramped.  Jes' 
yo'  lay  back  dar  under  de  bed  tell  yo'  git  rested- 
like,  so's  ef  dey  comes  dey'll  'How  yo's  all  fast. 
Den  ef  yo'  gets  peart,  take  a  sneak  down  de  rocks 
into  de  canon,  an'  vamose  for  Fair-view.  I'm  jes' 
natch'ally  goin'  to  see  !  " 

The  boy  pitched  the  severed  cords  and  the  lump 
of  coal  out  of  sight,  and  assisted  the  old  man  to 
dispose  himself  under  the  bed  in  the  same  position 
as  before. 

"I  'How  we'll  buffaler  'em,"  he  whispered,  en- 
couragingly ;  and  cocking  the  old  rifle,  he  tiptoed 
out  and  crept  down  over  the  edge  of  the  rocky 
slope.  Under  its  brow  he  crawled  cautiously  a 
few  rods ;  and  then  from  rock  to  rock  to  the  east 
end  of  the  tunnel,  into  whose  dark  mouth  he 
peered  from  behind  a  lucky  ledge. 

Yes  !     There  were  voices  !     Patsy  strained  his 


104  THE  JAWBONE  TELEGRAPH 

ears.  In  the  queer  reverberations  of  the  tunnel 
sounds  were  sadly  jumbled  ;  but  now  and  then 
he  caught  distinct  words,  even  whole  phrases  — 
enough  to  be  sure  that  the  scoundrels  were 
there,  and  meant  to  wreck  and  rob  the  express. 
There  were  fifty  thousand  dollars  in  silver  bars 
going  through  from  San  Francisco  in  the  Wells- 
Fargo  treasure-chests,  and  they  knew  of  it  in  the 
strange  ways  by  which  robbers  find  out  these 
things.  And  a  wreck  there  —  Patsy  shivered  to 
think  what  it  meant. 

The  engine,  of  course,  would  be  shattered  in  the 
tunnel,  and  would  bury  engineer  and  fireman  in  a 
hideous  chaos  of  steam  and  writhing  iron.  The 
passenger  coaches  would  still  be  on  the  great 
bridge  —  the  shock  would  doubtless  hurl  them  off 
that  narrow  footing  into  the  abyss.  So  there 
would  be  very  little  left  to  annoy  the  robbers  — 
just  the  express  messenger  and  mail  clerks,  if  they 
were  not  killed  in  the  smash.  And  at  best  they 
would  be  easy  victims,  in  the  surprise. 

By  the  time  these  thoughts  had  chased  one 
another  through  his  head  Patsy  was  at  the  bottom 
of  the  gorge,  and  running  for  dear  life  down  its 
boulder-choked  bed.  He  felt  safe  enough ;  it 
would  have  been  a  phenomenal  shot  to  hit  him 
from  the  track ;  and  in  case  any  lookout  of  the 
robbers  saw  him,  he  had  a  natural  fort  under  the 
cliff  anywhere,  and  the  old  Henry  wherewith  to 
defend  it. 


THE  JAWBONE  TELEGRAPH  105 

It  was  three  o'clock,  or  thereabouts,  by  the  sun. 
Number  Two  was  due  at  four  at  the  tunnel.  No 
time  to  lose,  then,  in  getting  over  that  rugged 
three  miles  to  Fairview ;  and  Patsy  kept  at  a  long, 
slouching  trot,  despite  the  slippery  boulders  and 
the  jagged  blocks  which  crowded  his  path. 

At  the  lower  bridge  he  clambered  up  the  cliff  to 
the  track,  and  went  skipping  along  the  rock  ballast 
with  increased  speed.  The  world  was  hot  and 
still  as  an  oven,  and  no  living  thing  in  sight. 

In  a  few  minutes  more  he  rounded  the  last  curve 
and  came  in  sight  of  Fairview.  All  seemed  well 
there.  The  little  brown  station  sweltered  quietly 
in  the  sun.  There  was  no  sound  but  the  singing 
of  the  wires  overhead  —  r-rm  !  r-rm  !  r-rm  !  And 
yet,  something  seemed  to  pluck  at  the  boy,  to 
hold  him  back. 

Rather  instinctively  than  because  he  knew  why, 
Patsy  stopped  running  as  he  emerged  from  the 
cut  into  view  of  the  station,  and  walked  soberly, 
even  carelessly.  He  shuffled  up  to  the  open  door 
and  shuffled  in. 

And  as  he  went  in  he  caught  his  breath.  A 
short,  thick-set  man,  with  a  hard  face,  sat  in 
Patsy's  rickety  chair  ;  and  from  under  the  flap  of 
his  leathern  coat  peeped  the  butt  of  a  Colt's  "44." 
Hard  faces  and  six-shooters  were  neither  new  nor 
alarming  to  Patsy  ;  but  he  felt  instantly  that  the 
stranger  was  not  a  casual  frontiersman.  The 
watchful  look  he  flung  at  Patsy,  the  swift  glance 


106  THE  JAWBONE   TELEGRAPH 

at  Binn  and  back  to  Patsy,  had  something  sinister 
in  it. 

Binn  was  at  the  telegraph  instrument,  pounding 
out  a  message  for  the  man — something  about  "Big 
head  of  stock  rounded  up.  Ship  Monday.  Meet 
at  Peach  Springs." 

That  was  harmless  enough,  thought  Patsy  as  he 
heard  it  ticked  off ;  but  then — er — niaybe  —  why, 
of  course!  The  stranger  was  a  lookout  who  had 
come  to  watch  the  telegraph  station,  and  see  that 
no  warning  went  to  the  doomed  train ;  and  this 
despatch  was  a  "blind." 

For  once  Patsy's  mind  moved  quickly.  This 
fellow  must  not  suspect  him.  The  boy  flung  his 
tattered  hat  into  a  corner,  with  an  impatient 
snort. 

"  Done  tramped  all  them  malpdis,  an'  hain't  seen 
nary  hair  o'  thet  wil'-cat  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  dropping 
upon  Binn's  bed  as  if  worn  out  and  disgusted. 

"  Huntin'  wil'-cats  ?  "  asked  the  stranger,  with 
a  keen  look.  "  I  'llow  thet  rifle  ain't  no  'count. 
Le's  see  it." 

He  held  out  his  left  hand  with  an  unpleasant 
smile.  The  gun  was  empty.  Patsy  had  knocked 
out  the  cartridge  for  safety  in  running  over  the 
rocks,  and  he  did  not  feel  in  a  position  to  refuse. 

The  stranger  took  the  old  weapon,  looked  it  over 
contemptuously,  and  set  it  against  the  wall  behind 
him. 

"  H-m  ! "  thought  Patsy.     "  He  shore  done  dat 


THE  JAWBONE  TELEGRAPH  107 

a-puppose  !  Didn't  he  jes'  wink  to  hisself  w'en  he 
got  atween  me  an'  my  gun?  He's  bad!  He  shore 
is  !  "  The  notes  of  the  tune  which  Patsy  began 
to  whistle  through  his  teeth  covered  a  very  ner- 
vous feeling. 

The  doleful  station  clock  stood  at  twenty  min- 
utes to  four.  Number  Two  was  due  in  ten  minutes, 
if  she  were  on  time.  What  could  be  done?  The 
eyes  of  the  stranger  were  cruelly  watchful.  Patsy 
was  not  a  boy  to  scare  easily,  but  he  felt  sure  that 
to  give  the  alarm  in  his  presence  would  mean  a 
"shooting  scrape." 

If  he  could  only  tell  Binn !  Maybe  then  they 
could  find  some  way  out.  But  Binn  had  sent  the 
message  and  was  dozing  again,  unconscious  of  the 
cold  eyes  and  the. anxious  ones  which  ought  to 
have  burned  him. 

Clickety  click  !  said  the  ticker.  Click  !  Click- 
click!  it  jabbered  for  two  minutes. 

Patsy  drew  a  long  breath.  Number  Two  was 
late  ;  this  was  the  operator  at  Ash  Fork  reporting 
to  the  train  despatcher  three  hundred  miles  away. 

She  was  probably  still  at  Ash  Fork.  Oh,  if  she 
could  only  be  warned ! 

There  would  be  no  chance  to  speak  to  the  con- 
ductor when  they  reached  Fairview  —  that  des- 
perado was  watching  him  as  a  cat  watches  a 
mouse.  A  word  to  the  train-men,  a  motion  to 
go  out  to  them,  would  mean  a  bullet. 

Patsy  was  very  nervous  now.     It  was  an  old 


108  THE  JAWBONE  TELEGRAPH 

habit  of  his  to  tap  his  teeth  with  finger-nails  or 
pencil  when  thinking ;  and  just  now  he  was 
mechanically  drumming  a  tattoo  with  his  bat- 
tered jack-knife  against  his  big,  white,  uneven 
teeth,  as  if  in  a  dream. 

Suddenly  the  stupid,  absorbed  face  changed. 
Luckily  the  stranger  was  looking  down  the  track 
for  an  instant,  or  his  quick  eye  would  have  de- 
tected that  eloquent  flash.  For  a  sound  had  found 
Patsy  in  his  dream,  and  wakened  him  as  great 
thoughts  waken  greater  minds. 

It  was  only  a  dull,  metallic  click  —  the  rattle 
of  his  knife  between  his  jaws.  But  it  had  said 
something!  The  sound  that  awakened  him  was 
the  "  A  "  of  the  Morse  alphabet !  He  was  tele- 
graphing unconsciously  with  his  teeth  ! 

The  desperado  turned  his  attention  to  the  room 
again.  The  older  operator  was  half  asleep  over 
the  instrument.  The  boy  looked  again  as  stupid 
as  ever,  but  he  was  a  trifle  paler. 

In  that  moment  he  had  wakened  from  boy  to 
man ;  and  manlike  he  would  carry  out  his  inspira- 
tion. It  was  to  "  telegraph  "  to  Binn  by  rapping 
with  his  knife  upon  his  teeth,  and  tell  him  thus  to 
warn  Ash  Fork  of  the  intention  of  the  train-rob- 
bers. If  he  could  do  it,  and  Binn  could  manage 
to  show  no  excitement — 

" .  .  .  — .  .  "  Patsy's  teeth  ticked  out  on  the 
old  bone  handle.  Binn  did  not  move.  He  was 
almost  asleep. 


THE  JAWBONE  TELEGRAPH  109 

"  .   .   .  —  .   .  "  ticked  Patsy,  more  loudly. 

Binn  stirred  reluctantly.  Some  one  was  calling 
"  Vi,"  the  official  call  of  Fairview  ;  and  Binn  lazily 
opened  his  eyes. 

"  This  is  Patsy,"  clicked  the  message.  "  For 
life  don't  look  !  This  man's  a  hold-up.  Gang  in 
tunnel  to  wreck  and  rob  Two.  Warn  Ash  Fork 
quick  !  "  and  there  was  a  perceptible  emphasis  on 
the  q-u-i-c-k. 

Binn  also  was  very  wide  awake  by  this  time, 
and  very  pale.  Luckily,  he  did  not  lose  his  head. 
He  reached  out  to  the  key  and  began  to  thump 
it. 

"  Ash  Fork  !  "  he  rattled.  "  Stop  Two  I  Hold-ups 
here.  Vi." 

"Wot's  de  matter?"  growled  the  watchful 
stranger,  suddenly  suspicious. 

"  Oh,  orders  for  Number  Two,"  answered  Binn. 
"  She's  to  meet  Thirty-one  at  Supai  side-track." 

The  desperado  looked  at  him  keenly  and  sus- 
picious^. Still,  there  was  nothing  to  fear.  The 
operator  had  been  asleep ;  he  couldn't  have 
dreamed  the  truth,  and  no  one  had  told  him. 

It  must  be  all  right ;  and  the  furtive  hand 
slipped  away  from  the  six-shooter. 

"  Tell  fully  !  "  clicked  Patsy  on  his  knife  ;  and 
Binn  sent  to  Ash  Fork  the  words  that  Patsy 
ticked  off  to  him  ;  Patsy,  Avhose  face  was  stupidly 
innocent  and  his  manner  as  carelessly  natural  as 
a  sheep's. 


110  THE  JAWBONE  TELEGRAPH 

When  this  startling  news  came  over  the  wire 
into  the  little  office  at  Ash  Fork,  there  was  a  flurry 
indeed.  Robbins,  the  operator,  having  reported 
his  train,  had  turned  for  a  chat  with  Long 
Jack,  the  foreman  of  a  distant  cattle-ranch.  The 
train  was  already  headed  up  the  hill,  climbing 
slowly  the  heavy  grade  under  a  vast  cloud  of 
smoke. 

"An'  he  says,  says  he,"  continued  Robbins, 
"  thet  —  hey  ?  Hold  on  a  min—  !  Whew  !  " 
And  he  shouted  to  the  startled  cowboy,  "  Catch 
Number  Two'!  There's  hold-ups  in  the  canon !  " 

Jack  bolted  out  of  the  door,  sprang  to  the 
back  of  his  tireless  "cow-pony,"  and  dashed  off 
north.  The  trail  ran  straight  up  the  hill,  and 
intersected  the  railroad's  corkscrew  course  two 
miles  away.  The  slowly  laboring  train  could  be 
overtaken  there,  after  rounding  one  of  the  long 
bends  which  were  necessary  to  overcome  the  steep 
ascent. 

Just  at  this  point  the  passengers,  who  looked 
out  to  see  Ash  Fork  down  in  the  valley  to  the 
west,  were  startled  by  a  wild  rider  on  a  lathered 
horse,  who  swung  his  hat  and  yelled  as  he  gal- 
loped toward  them.  The  engineer  saw  him,  too, 
but  thought,  "Only  a  cowboy  on  a  toot,"  and 
pulled  the  throttle  wider. 

Even  on  the  hill  the  train  began  to  slip  past  the 
now  winded  horse.  Jack  was  desperate.  He 
reined  close  to  the  passing  coaches,  loosened  his 


HE    CLUTCHED    A    HAND-RAIL    AND    SWUNG    HIMSELF    ABOARD    THE    LAST  _CAR 


THE  JAWBONE  TELEGRAPH  111 

feet  from  the  stirrups,  clutched  a  hand-rail,  and 
with  a  superb  effort  swung  himself  aboard  the 
last  car.  The  horse  loped  mournfully  along  be- 
hind, losing  distance,  now,  at  every  moment. 

"Hyah!  Wat  yo'  doin'  hyah?"  demanded  a 
voice,  and  a  stalwart  porter  pounced  upon  Jack. 
"  Dis  de  gin'l  manager's  special  kyar,  an'  we  don' 
want  no  interlopuses  !  " 

"Wai!  Yo'  tell  the  gen'rul  manager,"  re- 
torted the  cowboy,  shaking  off  the  clutch,  "  thet 
I  got  a  messige  fur  him,  an'  thet  this  train's 
shore  gwine  to  be  held  up,  'thout  he  shakes  his- 
self.  There's  a  gang  up  in  the  canon  a-layin' 
fur  it." 

The  startled  porter  rushed  into  the  car  with 
the  news,  and  in  a  moment  the  general  manager 
himself  was  on  the  rear  platform. 

"  What's  this  about  robbers  ?  "  he  asked  sharply  ; 
and  the  cowboy  told  what  word  had  come  to 
Ash  Fork,  and  how  he  had  brought  it  to  the 
train. 

When  Number  Two  stopped  at  Fairview  and 
the  conductor  ran  into  the  office  to  register,  Binn 
was  sitting,  still  very  pale,  at  the  desk,  and  Patsy, 
pale  too,  sat  kicking  his  heels  against  the  bed. 
An  alert  stranger  sat  watching  them. 

The  conductor,  now  fully  warned  by  Patsy's 
message,  took  in  the  situation  at  a  glance ;  he 
had  seen  hold-ups  before. 

He  registered  without   a  word,  crumpled  the 


112  THE  JAWBONE  TELEGRAPH 

tissue  orders  into  his  pocket,  stepped  out,  and 
gave  the  signal  to  go  ahead. 

The  stranger  followed  him  closely,  having  seen 
that  no  warning  had  been  given  by  the  operators, 
and  swung  up  on  the  car  steps  just  behind  him, 
intending  to  leap  off  before  the  bridge  was  reached. 
An  instant  later  he  was  looking  up  the  muzzle  of 
a  six-shooter,  and  the  conductor  was  saying  quietly, 
"  Throw  up  your  hands,  or  I'll  shoot  !  I  know 
your  game !  " 

At  the  rear  platform  of  the  last  car  an  ungainly 
boyish  figure  was  clambering  over  the  rail.  Inside 
the  car  he  found  several  men  rubbing  up  revolvers, 
who  did  not  welcome  his  entrance  very  cordially. 

"Who  are  you?  "  demanded  one  of  them  sharply, 
eying  the  ragged  boy  and  his  ancient  rifle. 

"  I'm  de  night  operator  at  Fairview,"  stammered 
Patsy  ;  and  he  told  the  whole  story. 

It  was  an  ill  day  for  the  train-robbers.  Half  a 
mile  above  Fairview  the  train  stopped,  and  a  posse 
of  men,  guided  by  Patsy,  climbed  the  upper  cliff, 
stole  over  the  hill,  crept  into  the  east  end  of  the 
tunnel,  and  captured  the  four  surprised  ruffians 
there  without  a  shot. 

It  took  a  couple  of  hours  to  remove  the  boulders 
from  the  track,  and  in  that  time  Patsy  had  been 
very  much  astonished. 

"  I  want  you  to  go  on  Number  Four  to-night  to 
Coolidge,"  the  general  manager  had  said,  after 
questioning  the  lad  closely.  "  There  is  a  vacancy 


THE  JAWBONE  TELEGRAPH  113 

there  to-morrow,  and  you  will  take  the  agency. 
It  will  pay  you  double  the  salary  at  Fairview. 
And,  by  the  way,  just  leave  that  rifle  with  me.  I 
don't  shoot  much  and  you  ought  to  have  a  better 
gun.  Here's  a  new  Ballard,  with  peep-sights  and 
wind-gage.  Suppose  we  swap." 


A  PENITENTE   FLOWER-POT 


A  PENITENTE   FLOWER-POT 


IT  was  a  most  curious  plant  to  be  growing  there 
—  and  curious  for  any  plant  to  grow  so  high  on 
the  frigid  flanks  of  Mount  San  Mateo  so  early. 
Down  in  the  valleys  there  was  not  a  token  of 
green ;  even  the  hardy  chaparro  had  not  yet  dared 
think  of  budding.  But  up  in  this  dark  ravine, 
over  eight  thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  with  strips 
of  snow  still  tapering  northward  from  the  pine- 
trunks  !  Some  one  had  been  at  work  here  very 
lately;  for  the  soaked  earth  was  newly  turned, 
and  muddy  finger-prints  were  still  fresh  on  the 
neck  of  an  enormous  jar  which  projected  a  few 
inches  above  the  surface.  One  must  be  crazy  to 
pot  flowers  so  far  from  home,  and  in  an  air  so  cold 
that  even  the  rugged  cedars  had  stopped  climbing 
five  hundred  feet  below,  and  left  the  heights  to 
the  shivering  pines.  As  for  the  plant,  that  was 
even  stranger  than  its  garden  —  a  great,  black, 
shaggy  ball  upon  a  squat,  brown  stalk,  a  scant 
four  inches  tall,  and  more  than  that  in  thickness. 
It  seemed  to  be  sadly  wilted,  too,  and  was  droop- 
ing very  much  to  one  side,  which  was  small  won- 
der considering  the  icy  wind  that  drew  through 
117 


118  A   PENITENTS  FLOWER-POT 

the  ravine  with  dismal  sighs  and  now  and  then 
a  hollow  wail.  The  toughest  plant  might  well 
freeze  in  such  weather. 

But  what  a  lloron  the  wind  is  to-day  !  One  ex- 
pects the  March  airs  to  screech  and  wail  a  bit ;  but 
not  play  cry-baby  the  way  this  is  doing.  With 
almost  every  gust,  its  voice  seems  to  turn  more 
and  more  to  tears,  till  one  could  almost  swear  it  is 
some  one  crying  bitterly. 

Now  the  sun,  sliding  past  a  pine-top,  falls  for 
the  first  time  upon  the  jar  ;  and  in  a  few  moments 
there  is  a  new  witchcraft  —  for  the  grotesque, 
black  blossom  begins  to  straighten  up  on  its  stalk  ; 
not  steadily,  but  by  fits  and  starts.  What  new 
sort  of  heliotrope  is  this,  that  blooms  so  untimely 
among  the  New  Mexican  peaks,  and  goes  nid-nod- 
ding to  the  sun  like  a  boy  who  tries  to  keep  awake 
in  church? 

Suddenly  the  howls  of  the  wind  ceased  —  as 
well  they  might,  for  they  were  only  borrowed. 
A  slender,  brown  girl,  very  ragged  in  the  old 
black  dress,  and  nearly  barefoot,  despite  the  cold, 
had  been  lending  them;  and  now,  rounding  a 
big  pine,  she  dropped  her  sobs  in  the  same  breath 
with  her  steps,  and  stood  as  rooted  to  the  ground. 
She  might  be  fourteen  years  old,  and,  but  for  the 
tears,  very  pretty  ;  for  her  swollen  eyes  were  still 
big  and  dark,  and  in  the  soft,  olive  cheeks  was  a 
faint  bloom. 

"What   flower  is  that?"    she  murmured,  in  a 


A   PENITENTS  FLO  WEE-POT  119 

voice  still  shaky.  "  And  who  shall  plant  here  ? 
Holiest  Mother !  It  is  bewitched  !  "  and,  with  a 
scream  of  terror,  she  turned  to  flee  down  the 
mountain-side.  For,  at  sound  of  her  voice,  the 
flower  had  twisted  on  its  clumsy  stalk  and  stared 
straight  at  her! 

Her  flight  might  have  been  more  successful  had 
she  kept  her  eyes  with  her,  instead  of  turning  them 
over  her  shoulder  to  see  if  that  horrible  blossom 
were  in  pursuit.  As  it  was,  she  had  not  gone  five 
steps  before  a  big  pine  ran  against  her  so  violently 
as  to  fling  her  to  the  ground  quite  breathless. 
Rise  ?  Indeed,  she  could  not.  Only  twenty  feet 
away  was  that  accursed  plant  glaring  at  her  arid 
holding  her  spellbound.  She  could  neither  move 
nor  cry  out,  but  lay  watching  with  an  awful  fas- 
cination, in  which  her  very  thoughts  were  far  off 
and  unreal.  The  rude  little  cabin  in  the  pass,  the 
still  form  in  it,  the  weeping  woman  and  babes,  all 
faded  from  her  memory  —  and  how  she,  the  oldest 
of  the  young  flock,  had  bravely  tried  to  bring  the 
news  across  the  mountain  to  the  little  Mexican  vil- 
lage, and  had  lost  her  way  amid  the  errant  cattle- 
trails  and  wandered  for  hours  crying  with  cold  and 
terror.  All  she  could  think  of  now  was  this  grim 
plant,  with  its  wild  eyes. 

But  were  they  so  wild  ?  Now  she  began  to  fancy 
that  they  had  an  imploring  look,  and,  as  she  gazed, 
the  whole  weird  flower  took  for  her  the  guise  of  a 
prayer,  a  plea  for  mercy.  Very  black  and  tousled 


120  A  PENITENTS  FLOWER-POT 

was  it ;  but,  oh,  it  looked  so  pitiful !  and  the 
woman  in  her  began  to  swell  above  her  fears. 
Perhaps  the  poor  thing  needed  help. 

In  some  conditions  of  the  mind,  one  does  quite 
absurd  things  in  perfect  good  faith.  Cleofes  was 
living  in  a  very  unreal  world  just  now ;  but  in  it 
she  acted  as  seriously  as  if  everything  had  been  the 
most  commonplace  affair  conceivable.  She  grew 
so  tender-hearted  for  this  poor  vegetable  which 
seemed  to  be  suffering,  that  she  found,  to  get  up 
and  go  to  its  assistance,  the  strength  she  had  been 
unable  to  muster  to  save  her  own  life  —  which 
shows  that  for  her  years  she  was  already  very 
much  a  woman. 

"  Pobrecita  de  flor"  she  said  softly,  laying  her 
slender,  brown  hand  on  the  great,  black  shock. 
"What  hast  thou?  What  can  I  do?"  and  she 
knelt  to  look  at  what  had  appeared  to  be  its 
face. 

A  face  it  certainly  was.  The  wild  black  hair 
and  beard  might  do  for  the  spiny  wig  of  some 
strange  cactus  or  a  crazy  chrysanthemum,  but 
who  ever  saw  eyes  and  mouth  in  chrysanthemum 
or  cactus  before?  Real  eyes,  that  moved  and 
begged,  bloodshot  as  they  were,  and  blue  lips, 
forced  far  apart  by  a  cruel  gag! 

"  Poor  plant ! "  repeated  Cleofes,  without  a 
thought  of  her  own  absurdity;  and,  tugging 
hard,  she  tore  the  pine-cone  from  between  the 
swollen  jaws.  The  lips  were  dry  and  rough  as 


A  PENITENTS  FLOWER-POT  121 

rawhide,  but  now  little  red  cracks  began  to  show 
on  them.  The  girl  ran  to  the  shadow  of  a  tall 
tree  and  caught  up  a  handful  of  snow.  With 
that  she  began  rubbing  the  frozen  lips,  and  little 
by  little  forced  bits  into  the  mouth. 

The  eyes  began  to  brighten  somewhat,  and,  in 
a  few  minutes,  a  hoarse,  inarticulate  sound  issued 
from  the  mouth  —  whereat  Cleofes  recoiled  in 
new  terror.  She  had  not  yet  ceased  to  think  of 
the  plant  as  a  plant;  for,  you  must  remember, 
she  lived  in  a  land  more  than  half  of  whose  peo- 
ple believe  in  witchcraft  to  this  day.  But,  in 
another  moment,  her  pity  again  conquered,  and 
she  began  chafing  the  cold  cheeks  and  putting 
more  snow  to  the  mouth. 

"  Bendita  —  seas  !  "  croaked  a  husky  voice  at 
last. 

"  What  art  thou  —  plant  or  human  ?  "  stam- 
mered the  girl,  uncertain  whether  to  stand  or 
run. 

"  Juan,  the — Penitente.  And  —  they —  buried 
me  —  here  —  to  die,  because  —  I  —  renounced  — 
the  brotherhood ! " 

At  this,  Cleofes  crossed  herself  and  lost  color. 
To  meddle  in  the  laws  of  the  fanatic  fraternity, 
whose  self-tortures  and  crucifixions  are  a  barbar- 
ous blot  on  New  Mexico  to  this  day  —  she  knew 
what  it  meant.  There  are  few  men  reckless  enough 
to  defy,  even  secretly,  that  remorseless  power. 
And  now  she  remembered  having  heard  of  this  — 


122  A  PENITENTE  FLOWER-POT 

that  brothers  who  had  broken  their  vows  were 
buried  thus  in  great  tinajonesj-  and  left  to  perish. 

"  Thou  art  good,  little  one  !  "  groaned  the  human 
plant ;  "  but  leave  me,  else  will  they  kill  thee, 
also."  The  despairing  eyes  seemed  to  push  her 
away. 

But  now  Cleofes  was  quite  herself  again  —  the 
muy  mujer  who  had  not  lived  fourteen  years  in 
that  wilderness  for  nothing.  The  prowling  Nava- 
jos  that  threatened  their  lonely  hut,  the  bear  killed 
in  the  very  dooryard,  meant  no  such  danger  as 
this.  But  she  could  not  leave  the  poor  head  to 
perish. 

"  No !  Though  they  kill  me,  I  will  get  thee 
out !  "  she  cried  impulsively,  stamping  her  tattered 
foot.  "  If  I  had  only  a  spade  !  " 

"  That  is  not  far.  For  I  saw  them  hide  it  under 
yon  scrub-oak,"  and  he  thrust  out  his  chin  in  that 
direction ;  "  but  what  canst  tJiou?  " 

"  With  help  of  God !  "  answered  Cleofes,  gravely; 
and  she  ran  to  the  bush.  There,  sure  enough, 
was  the  spade,  burrowed  under  the  dead  leaves, 
and,  in  a  moment  more,  she  was  digging  around 
the  neck  of  the  great  jar. 

The  eyes  watched  her  hopelessly.  But,  really 
now,  she  was  much  woman !  Good  spadefuls, 
sisterling  !  With  another  like  thee  it  might  be 
done !  The  girl  worked  like  one  possessed  ;  and 

*  Tee-nah-fto-nes,  earthen  jars. 


A  PENITENTS  FLOWER-POT  123 

there  came  a  ray  of  light  in  the  eyes  that  saw  the 
hole  slowly  widening. 

"  But  I  die  of  cold,"  the  voice  croaked ;  "  for 
these  six  hours  I  am  chilled  with  this  dead  earth." 

"  Tonta  that  I  am !  When  there  is  so  much  to 
burn  !  "  Dropping  the  spade,  she  gathered  pine- 
cones  and  dead  branches,  and  whirled  one  dry 
stick  in  the  hollow  of  another  till  both  began  to 
smoke  ;  and,  laying  dry  leaves  to  them,  blew  from 
puffed  cheeks  till  a  wee  flame  leaped  among  them. 
In  a  few  moments  more  a  smart  fire  crackled  to 
the  leeward  of  the  jar,  and  its  life-giving  heat 
began  to  thaw  the  frozen  victim. 

" Seest  thou  not  that  the  saints  are  with  us?" 
cried  the  girl,  almost  gayly;  "  all  goes  well,  and  in 
time  we  will  have  thee  free  !  "  Then  she  dug 
away  harder  than  ever,  while  the  eager  eyes  fol- 
lowed every  move  of  her. 

But  they  were  not  the  only  ones.  Both  were 
too  much  occupied  with  her  work  to  think  of  any- 
thing else,  or  they  might  have  been  aware  of  some- 
thing quite  as  interesting.  A  few  rods  up  the 
hill  was  a  narrow  trail,  and,  over  the  ridge,  a  pair 
of  tall  ears  had  just  risen.  Very  big  ears  they 
were,  indeed,  and  cocked  well  forward ;  and,  from 
between,  a  sinister  face  scowled  down  at  the  scene 
under  the  blasted  pine.  There  was  an  ugly  glit- 
ter in  the  eyes ;  and  suddenly  the  lips  drew  into 
a  hard  smile,  that  was  even  more  unpleasant  than 
the  frown. 


124  A  PENITENTS  FLOWER-POT 

"See  !  We  are  at  the  swell  of  the  olla  already  !  " 
exclaimed  Cleofes,  panting  with  her  work  and  mak- 
ing a  wry  face  at  a  big  blister  on  her  hand.  But 
the  head  did  not  answer;  and,  when  she  looked 
down  at  it,  the  face  was  distorted,  and  the  eyes 
seemed  twice  their  size.  She  whirled  to  follow 
their  direction,  and,  in  the  moment,  sank  down 
with  a  gasp  of  terror.  "  Filomeno,  the  Brother  of 
Light !  " 

Yes,  it  was  Filomeno !  He  spurred  the  reluc- 
tant mule  forward,  grinning  savagely.  In  good 
time  he  had  come  back  from  Cerros  Cuates.  What 
luck  had  sent  this  little  she-fool  to  meddle  in  the 
justice  of  the  brotherhood  ? 

"  God  give  you  good-day  !  "  he  sneered,  dis- 
mounting with  rifle  in  hand.  "  It  is  slow  digging 

—  no?     But  deeper  yet  they  shall  dig  who  would 
undo  the  work  of  the  Third  Order.     At  it,  little 
miner  !  — harder  !      Already  it  is  late,  and  this 
must  I  see  well  done  before  I  leave." 

What !     Was  he  going  to  let  her  finish  after  all 

—  this  evil  Filomeno,  whose  crimes  were  known 
all  across  the  county,  and  who  was  one  of  the  most 
zealous  of  the  Penitentes?     The  girl  looked  at 
him  in  wonder. 

"  Deeper,  I  tell  thee  I  It  still  lacks  much.  Lds- 
tima,  only,  that  there  is  not  another  jar  for  so 
pretty  a  flower  ! "  And  he  gave  a  strange  chuckle 
at  his  diabolic  wit. 

The  spade  dropped  from  Cleofes's  hands.     Now 


A   PENITENTS  FLOWER-POT  125 

she  understood  !  Not  for  her  life  could  she  speak 
a  word ;  and,  like  a  tattered  statue,  she  stared  at 
the  Brother  of  Light. 

"  Here,  give  me  the  spade  !  "  he  said,  after  en- 
joying her  terror  for  a  moment.  He  began  to 
throw  out  the  earth  in  great  wet  lumps ;  for 
Filomeno  had  a  back  like  the  trunk  of  an  oak. 
The  hole  grew  fast,  while  Cleofes,  powerless  and 
speechless,  watched  as  in  a  dream.  As  for  the 
head  in  the  jar,  it  was  luckier.  It  hung  down 
limply  to  one  side,  and  the  horror  had  all  faded 
from  the  half -closed  eyes. 

"  'State,  mula!  Stop  him  !  "  For  the  animal, 
wholly  suspicious  of  that  strange  object,  had  not 
ceased  to  snort  and  fling  its  head,  and  now  began 
to  sidle  off,  pretending  to  see  some  new  terror. 

"  Stop  him,  daughter  of  idiots  !  "  cried  Filomeno, 
angrily.  But  Cleofes  could  not  move ;  and,  with 
a  buffet  as  he  passed  her,  the  ruffian  caught  his 
beast  and  dragged  it  back,  dealing  it  several  blows 
in  the  face  with  his  heavy  fist. 

"  Now  stand,  thrice-accursed !  "  he  snarled,  pick- 
ing up  the  spade  again.  But  the  mule  had  no 
notion  of  standing,  and  danced  and  plunged  till 
he  was  like  to  break  the  bridle. 

"  Wilt  thou  not  ?  To  see,  beast  of  infamy  !  " 
roared  the  enraged  owner.  Uncoiling  the  reata 
from  the  saddle-horn,  he  knotted  it  about  the 
animal's  neck  and  brought  the  other  end  back  to 
the  hole,  twisting  it  around  his  fist  as  he  dug. 


126  A  PENITENTS  FLOWER-POT 

Flojo 1  seemed  to  grow  more  nervous  every  moment, 
as  is  the  way  of  beasts  "broken"  with  blows  and 
abuse.  He  kept  snorting  and  backing  off  and 
jerking  on  the  hair-rope  till  it  spilled  the  spade- 
fuls back  into  the  hole.  Each  time  Filomeno 
stopped  to  give  a  curse  and  a  savage  yank  which 
was  soothing  to  neither  Flojo's  neck  nor  feelings ; 
and,  finally,  bracing  his  heels  against  the  edge  of 
the  hole,  hauled  the  unwilling  donkey  close  up  to 
him,  hand  over  hand. 

"  Now  to  stand,  or  I  shoot  thee  the  head  off !  " 
he  panted,  with  a  fearful  oath ;  and,  coiling  the 
rope  under  his  feet,  he  began  to  ply  the  spade  with 
redoubled  energy. 

Flojo  seemed  to  have  concluded  that  further  pro- 
test was  useless  ;  and,  with  ears  and  head  drooping 
and  a  look  of  utter  dejection  in  his  long  face,  he 
stood  mournfully  watching  his  master.  He  would 
be  a  good  mule  now  —  it  cost  too  dear  to  yield  to 
one's  feelings,  with  Filomeno  about. 

These  good  resolutions  were  all  very  well,  if 
only  Juan's  swoon  had  lasted  a  little  longer.  But 
now  there  was  a  faint  sigh  from  the  jar,  and  the 
bushy  head  moved  feebly  and  the  eyes  began  to 
open.  Flojo  cocked  up  one  ear,  and  then  stole  a 
sidelong  glance  at  the  very  wrong  time.  That 
black  thing  was  alive  !  And  without  waiting  for 
more,  the  terror-stricken  mule  reared  madly  back- 

i  FW-ho. 


A  PENITENTS  FLOWER-POT  127 

ward  and  started  off  at  a  gallop.  In  an  instant 
there  came  an  unexpected  hitch  in  his  gait  —  at 
the  same  time  that  Filomeno's  gray  sombrero  dis- 
appeared and  his  clumsy  feet  popped  up,  as  if  the 
two  had  incontinently  changed  places. 

"  Whoa  !  Socorro!  "  yelled  a  hoarse  voice.  But 
Flo  jo  did  not  understand  the  last  word  and  wil- 
fully disregarded  the  first ;  for  a  new  panic  seized 
him  at  sight  of  the  ungainly  dark  form  that  whopped 
out  of  the  hole  and  began  tearing  along  the  ground 
after  him  like  a  gigantic  lizard.  He  would  not 
have  paused  for  all  the  "  Whoas  !  "  in  Valencia 
County. 

"  Whoa !  Stop  him !  Mur-der  ! "  screeched  Filo- 
ineno.  But  Cleof es  could  only  answer  with  a  peal 
of  hysterical  laughter.  How  he  did  bump  along  ! 
No  maromero  on  a  saint's  day  could  ever  be  half  so 
funny  when  he  tried  his  hardest.  Filomeno  had 
been  just  a  little  too  smart.  The  lasso  had  become 
tangled  about  his  feet,  and  now  it  was  in  a  close 
hitch  which  defied  his  efforts  to  kick  it  off.  As 
for  doubling  up  and  grasping  the  rope,  Flojo's 
gait  said  a  final  "No"  to  that.  Off  down  the 
hillside  dashed  the  maddened  mule,  dragging  his 
master  forty  feet  behind. 

A  rocky  ledge  here — but  it  was  too  late  to  stop. 
The  runaway  leaped  forward  blindly  and  landed 
in  the  mud  twenty  feet  below,  all  in  a  heap.  A 
dead  piiion  stood  almost  against  the  rocks  —  so  close 
that  Flojo  had  cleared  it  safely.  But  the  rope  drew 


128  A  PENITENTS  FLOWER-POT 

across  a  stiff  branch  and  caught  in  a  fork  and  stuck 
there — and  there  dangled  Filomeno  ten  feet  from 
the  ground,  head  down,  his  torn  moccasins  almost 
touching  the  branch.  Flo  jo  rose  painfully  and 
tried  to  hobble  off  downhill,  but  the  stout  reata 
would  not  give,  and,  turning  resignedly,  he  stood 
gazing  with  an  interested  air  at  his  dangling 
master.  For  once  he  had  Filomeno  at  the  right 
end  of  the  rope. 

Three  hours  later,  the  pale  March  moon,  resting 
a  moment  on  the  sturdy  shoulder  of  San  Mateo, 
after  her  climb  from  the  east,  peered  down  through 
the  pines  to  an  unaccustomed  sight.  A  camp-fire 
burned  ruddily  by  a  deep  hole,  in  which  were 
jumbled  the  massy  fragments  of  a  huge  earthen 
jar.  Beside  the  grateful  blaze  lay  a  big,  shaggy 
fellow,  his  tattered  clothing  red-caked  with  mud  ; 
and  near  him  sat  a  girl.  Filomeno  had  builded 
better  than  he  knew.  A  stout  hand  at  work  was 
he  ;  and  when  he  so  abruptly  ceased  his  labors, 
the  digging  was  so  well  advanced  that,  by  doing  a 
very  little  more,  Cleofes  could  batter  the  olla  to 
pieces  with  the  spade,  and  presently  liberate  the 
captive.  He  was  quite  unable  to  move  at  first ; 
but  with  time  the  glow  of  the  fire  gave  back  life 
to  his  chilled  frame,  and  he  was  saying  : 

"  Pues,  little  one,  it  is  to  go  —  for  now  I  am 
able." 

"But  he  — but  Filomeno?"  cried  Cleofes,  as 
the  mournful  bray  of  a  mule  echoed  through  the 


A  PENITENTE  FLOWER-POT  129 

woods.  The  shrieks  and  howls  and  imprecations 
had  ceased  long  ago  ;  only  now  and  then  there 
was  a  hollow  groan  from  down  yonder. 

"  Leave  him,  demdnio  that  he  is  !  —  well  hung 
up  for  the  crows  to-morrow  !  " 

"  No  !  no !  We  must  not !  Else  his  blood  would 
be  on  us.  We  must  let  him  go  —  and  the  poor 
mule  that  saved  us." 

"J3a!  When  he  and  his  left  me  to  a  deeper 
death  ?  And  even  thee  he  was  to  bury  !  " 

"  Even  so,  let  us  not  be  murderers,  too  !  Come, 
let  him  go,  there's  a  good  Juan!  " 

"  How  shall  I  say  no  to  the  mujerota  who  has 
saved  me?  But  ask  it  not  —  for  if  he  lives,  he 
will  have  his  revenge  ;  and  at  his  back  is  all  the 
brotherhood.  For  me  it  is  easy  to  flee,  and  for 
my  son  ;  but  thy  family  ?  For  I  tell  thee  there  is 
no  corner  in  New  Mexico  where  one  can  hide  from 
the  anger  of  the  Penitentes." 

"  Oyes,  Juan  !  Here  thou  hast  his  rifle,  and, 
anyway,  by  now  he  will  be  past  fighting.  Only 
take  him  down  from  the  tree,  and  bind  him  well 
by  the  trail,  and  let  the  mule  go.  When  it  comes 
home  empty,  they  will  look  for  Filomeno  ;  and  by 
Flojo's  trail  they  will  easily  find  him  before  he 
starves.  And  meantime  we  shall  all  be  safe  ;  for 
my  mother  has  told  me  she  will  go  to  her  people 
in  Chihuahua,  now  that  papa  is  dead,  and  this 
only  makes  it  to  go  a  little  sooner.  Come,  good 
Juan,  if  you  really  thank  me,  do  that !  " 


130  A  PENITENTS  FLOWEE-POT 

And  Juan  did  even  so.  I  am  not  at  all  sure 
that  he  did  a  service  to  the  public  ;  for  horses 
continue  to  disappear,  and  travellers  are  sometimes 
waylaid  in  that  part  of  Valencia  County  ;  and 
when  one  speaks  of  it,  the  people  of  San  Mateo 
are  wont  to  shrug  their  shoulders  and  say  : 

"  Quien  sabe  ?  But  Filomeno  was  not  at  home 
last  night.  6jala  they  had  left  him  up  the  piiion- 
tree  ! " 

But  that  is  not  the  wish  of  a  demure  and  very 
good-looking  matron,  whose  home  down  among 
the  hills  of  northern  Mexico  is  undisturbed 
by  anything  more  desperate  than  several  round- 
faced  youngsters.  "  Penitentes  ?  "  she  says,  with 
a  shiver,  when  her  husband  tries  to  tease  her. 
"  Boo  !  How  I  hate  the  very  name  !  But  none 
the  less  am  I  glad  I  made  thy  father  turn  loose 
that  one.  No,  grandpa  ?  " 

And  a  gray  and  very  rheumatic  man,  smoking 
in  the  sunshine  by  the  door,  answers  : 

"  Pues  liija,  perhaps  it  is  just  as  well  —  though 
for  me,  /would  have  left  him." 


BRAVO'S  DAY  OFF 


BKAVO'S  DAY   OFF 

"  Go  home,  sir !     Get  out,  I  tell  you  !  " 

"  Bow  !  wow  !  wow  !  " 

"  Shoo  !     Git !     Go  home,  you  brute  !  " 

"  Gr-rr-OO-woo  !  " 

"Here!    Pst !    Nice  fellow,  come  here  !    Whst, 
whst  !     Come,  there's  a  good  dog  !  " 

But  the  doctor  was  a  base  flatterer  now.  Bravo 
was  not  a  good  dog,  nor  had  he  the  remotest  inten- 
tion of  being.  He  was  of  that  nondescript  "breed  " 
peculiar  to  some  of  the  outlying  hamlets  of  New 
Mexico  —  a  woolly  poodle  magnified  to  the  size  of 
a  large  mastiff.  Long,  dirty  curls  bobbed  all  over 
him,  and  his  head  looked  more  like  a  mop  than  a 
head,  the  little  red  eyes  nearly  hidden  in  the  frowsy 
mat.  For  a  dog  of  that  aspect  even  to  think  of  cul- 
tivating amiability  was  quite  too  absurd — no  one 
would  believe  it  of  him,  even  if  he  had  it.  So  it 
was  just  as  well  to  have  fun.  Fun  he  certainly  was 
having  now,  as  he  leaped  up  against  the  low  and 
straggly  juniper  with  ferocious  barks  —  which  were 
really,  I  think,  to  cloak  an  ill-mannered  dog  laugh 
at  the  antics  of  the  strange  figure  a  few  inches 
beyond  reach  of  his  jaws. 
133 


134  BEAVO'S  DAT  OFF 

It  was  a  disgusting  predicament  in  which  Dr. 
Woodkins  found  himself.  For  him,  the  head  of 
the  little  colony  of  farmers  of  the  poorer  class  that 
had  moved  West  and  settled  among  the  Mexicans, 
to  be  thus  treed  by  a  miserable  Mexican  cur  was 
outrage  enough.  But  even  that  was  not  the  worst 
of  it ;  he  was  terribly  afraid  the  dog's  uproar  would 
bring  some  one  to  the  spot,  and  the  doctor  was  not 
prepared  to  receive  visits  just  now.  He  anathe- 
matized the  dog,  the  country,  the  natives,  and  even 
muttered  "  bothers  "  against  the  young  lady  from 
Albuquerque  who  was  visiting  the  schoolma'am 
and  who  certainly  was  to  blame  for  it  all.  Yes ! 
if  she  had  not  come  to  Manzano  with  those  absurdly 
bright  eyes  and  ways  so  unlike  those  of  the  red- 
fisted  damsels  of  the  colony,  all  this  would  never 
have  happened.  The  doctor  would  not  have  plas- 
tered his  hair  faultlessly  down  over  his  brow  and 
combed  out  his  beard  with  such  care,  and  blacked 
his  best  boots  so  laboriously,  and  ridden  over  from 
the  ci£nega  for  a  formal  call.  Plague  take  these 
girls,  anyhow!  They  were  a  meddlesome  lot, 
always  getting  one  into  hot  water  —  and  the 
doctor  groaned  aloud  as  he  realized  the  full  tem- 
perature of  that  into  which  he  had  now  tumbled. 

It  was  a  long,  dusty  horseback  ride  from  the 
ci€nega  ;  and  as  Dr.  Woodkins  was  a  precise  man, 
and  rather  an  admirer  of  the  doctor,  he  had  taken 
precautions  to  appear  at  his  best.  His  Sunday 
broadcloth,  carefully  wrapped  in  a  newspaper, 


"COME,  THERE'S  A  GOOD  DOG" 


BRAVO' S  DAY  OFF  135 

liung  in  one  half  of  the  saddle-bags ;  his  boots,  a 
spotless  shirt,  and  other  adornments  in  the  other, 
and  in  his  hand,  also  wrapped,  had  come  the  well- 
brushed  silk  hat. 

This  was  certainly  a  very  prudent  plan.  The 
ceremonial  dress  escaped  all  the  wear  and  dust  of 
the  journey,  and  within  half  a  mile  of  the  little 
Mexican  village  the  doctor  reined  off  amid  the 
junipers.  A  little  away  from  the  road  he  tied  his 
horse  and  proceeded  to  make  a  dignified  change  of 
toilet  behind  a  spreading  tree.  He  took  the  fresh 
apparel  from  the  saddle-bags,  carefully  unrolled  it, 
puffed  away  a  fleck  of  dust  that  had  fallen  on  the 
coat,  and  then  began  to  divest  himself  of  the  rather 
seedy  garments  in  which  he  had  come,  conscien- 
tiously folding  each  article  as  he  took  it  off.  He 
would  leave  them  in  the  saddle-bags  in  this  tree 
till  his  return  —  no  telltale  bundles  of  old  clothes 
about  him  when  he  should  ride  immaculate  up  to 
the  teacher's  house. 

He  was  just  finding  his  way  into  the  stiff  shirt, 
with  a  petulant  blessing  upon  the  housekeeper  for 
being  so  wasteful  of  starch,  when  Bravo  chanced 
that  way.  It  might  be  perfectly  proper,  back  in 
Hooppole  township,  to  change  one's  garments 
behind  a  pawpaw,  but  the  performance  was  cer- 
tainly quite  contrary  to  all  Bravo's  Mexican 
notions  of  propriety,  and  he  charged  upon  the 
offender  with  such  menacing  barks  as  might  have 
struck  terror  to  a  stouter  heart.  The  doctor's 


136  BRAVO 'S  DAT  OFF 

head  had  just  risen  above  the  collar,  and,  seeing 
his  danger,  he  scrambled  up  into  the  low-branched 
tree  with  unprofessional  haste  —  just  in  time, 
too ;  for  the  invader  caught  a  generous  mouthful 
from  the  flaunting  garment,  and  his  paws  left 
long  red  rakes  on  the  doctor's  calves. 

Bravo  had  taken  a  day  off,  merely  for  a  rabbit 
hunt  by  himself,  hoping  to  catch  some  unwary 
cottontail  away  from  its  burrow.  Meat  was 
scarce  at  the  adobe  below  the  hill,  and  he  was 
heartily  tired  of  brown  beans.  He  had  not  needed 
to  ask  leave,  for  no  one  cared  whether  he  went 
or  stayed  ;  in  fact,  he  sometimes  had  suspicions 
that  he  was  rather  in  the  way  at  home.  But  even 
with  so  shabby  a  specimen,  the  same  dog  faithful- 
ness to  masters,  good  or  bad,  held,  and  Bravo 
hardly  ever  left  the  house,  unless  to  tag  soberly 
after  the  burros  that  went  for  wood.  But  to-day 
he  had  rather  made  up  his  mind  to  a  holiday. 
The  rabbits,  it  is  true,  had  been  very  disobliging, 
but  now  he  didn't  mind  that  a  bit.  Apparently 
there  was  no  meat  in  this,  but  it  was  so  much 
more  fun !  And,  like  the  philosophical  dog  he 
was,  Bravo  proceeded  to  make  the  most  of  it. 
He  barked  and  howled  and  leaped  up  till  his  white 
teeth  clicked  within  two  inches  of  the  stockinged 
feet  overhead,  and  the  chattering  figure  drew  up 
in  vain  attempts  to  clamber  a  little  higher  than 
the  top  of  the  scrubby  tree.  Then  he  would  sit 
on  his  haunches  and  look  up,  alternately  howling 


BRAVO'S  DAT  OFF  137 

and  whining  and  licking  his  shaggy  chops,  with 
an  air  that  said,  just  as  plainly  as  words,  "  My  ! 
but  I'd  give  what  little  tail  they  have  left  me  for 
just  one  mouthful  of  you ! "  And  then,  as  a 
diversion,  he  would  worry  the  broadcloth  awhile, 
until  it  was  a  sight  to  be  seen. 

At  this  outrage  the  doctor,  who  had  long  ago 
exhausted  his  whole  dispensary  of  menaces  and 
cajoleries,  frantically  twisted  off  a  branch  and 
leaned  out  to  chastise  the  profaner  of  his  long- 
saved  finery.  But  Bravo  caught  the  stick  in  his 
mouth,  and  gave  so  fierce  a  tug  as  was  like  to 
fetch  the  enemy  sprawling  down  upon  him.  Only 
a  precipitate  dropping  of  the  switch  saved  the 
doctor,  and  righting  himself  in  the  tree  he  gave 
way  to  a  tempest  of  maledictions.  He  was  "  mad 
enough  to  cry,"  and  no  wonder.  It  was  fit  to 
provoke  a  saint,  and  Job  himself  might  have 
found  it  hard  to  live  up  to  his  reputation  had 
he  been  in  the  doctor's  place  now.  Bravo,  sud- 
denly discovering  another  suspicious  bundle  on 
a  chaparro  bush,  worried  off  its  wrappings  and 
proceeded  to  make  the  cherished  "stovepipe"  into 
a  ghastly  mockery  that  would  have  befitted  any 
Eastern  procession  of  "  Horribles "  on  the  glori- 
ous Fourth. 

While  making  the  most  of  this  unexpected 
treat,  his  attention  and  his  barks  were  suddenly 
turned  toward  the  road.  A  couple  of  horses 
clattered  round  the  turn,  and  from  his  higher 


138  BBAVO'S  DAT  OFF 

perch  the  doctor  caught  a  glimpse  of  feathered 
hats  and  ribbons. 

"What  can  the  dog  be  at?"  cried  a  very 
pleasant  voice. 

"  A  rabbit,  maybe,"  answered  another.  "  Let's 
ride  in  and  see." 

But  at  hearing  this  the  figure  in  the  tree  fairly 
shrank  into  itself,  and  screamed  in  an  unrecog- 
nizable voice  :  "  Hi,  you  !  Don't  you  come  here  ! 
Git  out !  Shoo  !  " 

"  What  on  earth  ?  "  gasped  the  first  young  lady. 
"Say,  we'd  better  get  away!  I  suppose  some 
terrible  crime  is  being  committed  in  the  woods 
there  !  "  And  two  pretty  riders,  rather  pale, 
went  galloping  down  the  road. 

"  Sic  'em ! "  hissed  the  prisoner  in  the  tree,  hop- 
ing the  dog  would  be  tempted  to  pursue.  But 
Bravo  knew  a  good  thing  when  he  had  it ;  and 
with  only  a  pretext  of  going,  came  bounding  back 
in  time  to  surprise  the  doctor  in  a  stealthy  descent, 
and  sent  him  scrambling  up  the  rough  branches 
again. 

"  How  long,  O  Lord,  how  long  ?  "  groaned  the 
victim,  shivering  ;  for  it  was  a  very  fresh  after- 
noon. "  If  I  could  only  get  Dandy  here  !  "  His 
horse  stood  patiently  a  few  yards  away,  watching 
the  whole  scene  with  silent  disapproval.  But 
Dandy  was  tied  in  the  doctor's  own  methodical 
way,  and  could  not  come  any  nearer — even  had  he 
been  used  to  showing  any  affection  for  his  master. 


BRAVO' S  DAT  OFF  139 

Another  hour  dragged  by,  and  the  long  shadows 
of  the  peaks  began  to  steal  out  into  the  plain. 
The  doctor  was  blue  with  cold,  and  his  teeth 
chattered  too  violently  to  encourage  conversation 
with  himself  or  Bravo.  He  felt  sure  the  dog 
would  never  go  and  that  he  should  freeze  to 
death.  Eh  !  It  couldn't  be  —  yes,  it  was  !  A 
hollow  groan  from  the  tree,  as  if  the  victim  had 
given  up  his  last  hope.  The  very  dog  he  had  shot 
at  and  wounded  one  night  because  it  barked  at 
him  ! 

"  Serves  me  right !  "  he  thought  bitterly.  "  No 
more  than  I  deserve  for  coming  to  this  barbarous 
country  and  its  barbarous  people,  and  for  leaving 
such  a  practice  as  I  had  at  home  "  —  for  he  had  so 
often  told  the  simple  New  Mexicans  about  the 
great  clientage  he  had  in  the  East,  that  he  had 
come  to  believe  it  himself. 

"  Help  !  You  !  "  he  suddenly  bawled  at  sound 
of  some  one  whistling  in  the  road.  The  tune 
ceased  abruptly,  and  in  a  moment  a  tall  and 
tattered  boy,  with  a  flint-lock  musket  over  his 
shoulder,  came  slouching  into  view.  Santiago 
certainly  was  not  without  a  sense  of  humor,  and 
I  leave  it  to  you  if  a  bishop  might  not  have 
snickered  at  sight  of  that  white-kilted  figure 
huddled  in  the  tree,  with  the  tousled  dog  watch- 
ing hungrily  below.  But  Santiago  did  not  laugh. 
There  was  not  even  a  smile  on  his  serious  face,  as 
he  stopped  at  the  foot  of  the  juniper  and  looked 


140  BEAVO'S  DAY  OFF 

up  at  the  doctor;  for  even  stronger  than  his 
humor  was  the  infinite  courtesy  which  is  in  every 
fibre  of  his  people. 

"  Seiior  Doctor,"  he  said,  respectfully,  in  Span- 
ish, "  what  a  pity !  These  dogs  are  very  trouble- 
some and  unmannered.  I  hope  it  is  not  long  he 
has  molested  you  ?  You  see  he  does  not  under- 
stand English.  But  Spanish,  yes.  Choo,  Bravo  ! 
Vdyate  !  " 

As  if  it  were  really  a  matter  of  language,  and 
he  had  merely  understood  the  doctor  to  be  invit- 
ing him  to  come  and  have  a  bone,  Bravo  dropped 
his  stump  of  a  tail,  and  scurried  off  toward  home 
with  a  reproachful  glance  at  the  spoiler  of  his 
fun. 

"Now  you  can  come  down,  Senor  Doctor,  for 
he  will  not  come  more.  He  is  Blind  Juan's  dog, 
and  knows  me.  No  hay  cuidado." 

"What  d'ye  talk  that  gibberish  to  me  for?" 
snapped  the  doctor,  whose  humor  seemed  to  be 
growing  worse  rather  than  better,  now  that  his 
afflictions  were  over.  "  You  know  I  don't  savvy 
it.  Why  don't  you  greasers  learn  English,  like 
you  ought  to  ?  " 

Santiago's  big  eyes  opened  a  little  wider  at  this ; 
for  he  understood  English  very  well,  thanks  to 
the  schoolma'am,  though  he  was  diffident  about 
speaking  it.  But  now  he  said  quite  clearly, 
though  with  the  utmost  politeness  : 

,  Seiior  Doctor,  we  learn  much  slow,  for 


BRAVO' 8  DAY  OFF  141 

you  ten  Americans  in  fifty  miles,  and  we  many 
thousands  who  always  have  talk  Spanish.  An' 
you  peoples  come  here  one  year  now,  and  not  one 
learn  any  of  that  language  which  speak  all  in 
New  Mexico." 

"  Wai,  d'ye  s'pose  we're  going  to  bother  with 
your  lingo  ?  You've  got  to  learn  the  language  of 
the  conquerin'  Saxon." 

The  "  conquerin'  Saxon  "  had  by  this  time  got 
stiffly  down  from  the  tree,  and  was  worrying  his 
cramped  limbs  into  what  was  left  of  their  proper 
covering.  Santiago  looked  at  him,  and  the  cut- 
ting answer  which  was  on  the  point  of  his  tongue 
found  no  voice  —  only  a  queer  little  light  danced 
across  his  eyes.  Perhaps  it  wasn't  worth  while 
to  take  this  gentleman  too  seriously. 

"Say,  brush  me  off  behind,"  commanded  the 
doctor,  who  was  now  dressed.  Santiago  hesitated 
a  moment  and  then  rendered  the  service,  saying 
quietly,  "  Why  not,  since  you  request  it  ?  " 

"  And  mind  you,  if  you  say  a  word  about  this 
to  any  one  I'll  break  every  bone  in  your  skin! 
Savvy  ?  Here,  take  that  and  keep  a  close  mouth," 
and  he  tossed  a  shining  silver  dollar. 

"  Good-evenings,  Senor  Doctor,"  said  Santiago, 
coldly,  turning  on  his  heel  and  marching  off  with 
his  shoulders  very  straight. 

"  Wai,  the  impudence  of  these  people,"  mut- 
tered the  doctor,  with  an  uneasy  little  laugh. 
"  Hm!  The  wust's  your  own,  my  boy.  If  you're 


142  BRAVO '5  DAY  OFF 

too  rich,  I  ain't,"  and  he  picked  up  the  coin  and 
put  it  in  his  pocket.  Then  he  stood  looking  down 
at  himself  for  some  moments  with  an  air  of  one 
who  ponders  gravely. 

"N-n!  "  he  soliloquized  at  last.  "I  won't  back 
out  now.  But  however  will  I  apologize  for  yan 
mess  ?  Hey?  That's  the  talk."  He  slapped  his 
thigh  as  at  some  very  happy  inspiration,  and  even 
brightened  up  enough  to  whistle  a  bar  of  "  The 
Girl  I  Left  Behind  Me,"  as  he  clambered  upon 
Dandy  and  rode  off  to  Manzano. 

"Mercy!  "  Miss  Parker  was  saying  half  an  hour 
later.  "  What  a  Hercules  you  must  be,  doctor ! 
To  think  of  your  beating  off  the  mountain  lion, 
after  such  a  terrific  hand-to-hand  struggle !  Why, 
if  one  could  have  seen  you  as  you  throttled  the 
savage  beast,  I  am  sure  it  would  have  made  a 
heroic  picture  —  fine  as  Samson  rending  the 
lion." 

For  the  doctor  had  more  than  acquitted  his 
tattered  garb. 

"  And  do  you  know  ?  "  cooed  Miss  Kitty,  fixing 
those  dangerous  eyes  on  the  doctor,  "  Miss  Parker 
and  I  came  very  near  having  an  adventure,  too, 
while  we  were  out  riding  this  afternoon.  There 
was  some  dreadful  mystery  going  on  in  the  woods 
beyond  the  arroyo  —  we  think  those  desperadoes 
from  San  Pedro  must  have  been  murdering  some 
one  there.  And  if  we  had  not  galloped  off, 


BRAVO 'S  DAT  OFF  143 

there's  no  knowing  but  we  might  have  been  killed, 
too." 

"  Ah,  if  I  had  only  been  there  to  protect  you, 
Miss  Kitty!  I  would  like  to  see  any  of  them 
ruffians  molest  you  while  I  was  round!  "  And 
the  good  doctor's  chest  expanded  and  his  fists 
clenched  as  though  he  already  had  the  despera- 
does by  the  throat. 

"  All  these  yere  varmints  would  'a'  been  killed 
out  long  ago,"  he  said,  "if  civilized  people  was 
here.  But  them  miserable  brutes  o'  Mexicans 
ain't  good  for  anything." 

"  Oh,  how  can  you  say  so,  doctor  ?  "  put  in  Miss 
Parker,  gently.  "I  have  lived  three  years  here 
among  them,  a  lonely  girl,  entirely  dependent 
upon  their  good  will,  and  I  think  they  have 
taught  me  more  than  I  shall  ever  be  able  to  teach 
them.  They  are  ignorant,  it  is  true,  of  many 
things  we  know ;  but  they  also  know  some  things 
we  do  not.  Certainly  they  are  the  kindest- 
hearted  and  most  courteous  people  I  have  ever 
found  anywhere,  and  very  good  neighbors.  And 
some  of  them  are  as  high-minded  as  any  one  I 
know,  despite  their  lack  of  education." 

"Well,  I  ain't  no  Mexican  lover,  nor  Indian 
lover,  neither.  White  people's  good  enough  for 
me.  These  critters  are  too  lazy  even  to  learn  to 
talk  United  States." 

"It  is  less  laziness  than  lack  of  chance;  and 
I  think  we  haven't  any  great  right  to  criticise 


144  BRAVO'S  DAT  OFF 

them  in  this,  anyway,  they  are  so  enormously  in 
the  majority.  So  few  of  us  ever  learn  their  lan- 
guage. I  sometimes  wonder  that  a  few  dozen  of 
us  do  not  go  to  France  and  insist  that  the  French 
millions  shall  at  once  learn  English  for  our  benefit." 

Miss  Parker  spoke  so  quietly  that  the  doctor 
lost  half  the  force  of  her  sarcasm.  But  he 
changed  the  subject,  and  began  to  dilate  upon  the 
beauties  of  the  dfaega;  to  throw  out  dark  hints 
of  the  loneliness  of  his  cabin  there  and  its  need  of 
a  certain  kind  of  sunshine. 

"  Ah,  here's  Santiago,"  said  Miss  Parker,  going 
to  answer  a  knock  at  the  door.  "  Pa&e,  amigo. 
Santiago,  this  is  Dr.  Woodkins,  and  this  is  my 
friend  Miss  Wilson." 

"Mees  Wilson  I  like  to  know,  and  the  Senor 
Doctor  already  we  know  us  much  time.  Even 
thees  aftonone  I  meet  him."  Santiago  was  en- 
tirely self-possessed,  though  there  was  a  bit  of 
a  twinkle  in  his  eye.  His  clothing  was  old,  but 
carefully  brushed ;  and  he  had  put  fresh  almagre 
on  the  Indian  moccasins  he  wore. 

"  Here's  a  boy  that  would  change  some  of  your 
opinions,  doctor,  if  you  knew  him  well,"  said  the 
teacher.  "  He  began  coming  to  school  only  a 
year  ago,  and  now  he  can  read  and  write  very 
well,  and  talk  better  English  than  I  do  Spanish, 
as  you  can  see.  I  don't  wish  to  puff  him  up  ;  but 
he  is  a  good  scholar  and,  more  than  that,  a  good 
boy  —  one  of  God's  gentlemen." 


BRAVO'S  DAT  OFF  145 

"  There's  no  accounting  for  tastes,  mum,"  re- 
joined the  doctor,  sourly;  "I  ain't  no  hand  for 
blacks  myself." 

Santiago's  brown  face  was  red  now  with  pleas- 
ure and  confusion,  but  he  managed  to  stammer : 
"It  ees  that  our  mees  is  so  good,  so  paciente. 
There  is  no  one  in  Manzano  who  do  not  love 
her." 

"  I  believe  it  is  half  true,"  said  the  little  school- 
ma'am,  blushing  in  her  turn,  but  with  moist- 
ure in  her  eyes.  "  It  is  wonderful  how  grateful 
they  are  for  a  chance  to  learn,  and  every  kindness 
one  shows  them  they  pay  back  tenfold.  I  really 
feel  proud  of  their  friendship  for  me,  it  is  so  truly 
from  the  heart.  Why,  the  other  day  —  " 

A  rattle  of  shots  outside  made  every  one  jump. 
"  Wh-what  ?  "  gasped  the  doctor,  looking  around 
the  room. 

"  I  hope  no  one  is  hurt,"  murmured  Miss  Parker, 
throwing  open  the  door  and  peering  out  into  the 
moonlight.  Down  the  street  was  a  wild  clatter 
of  hoofs  and  a  chorus  of  drunken  yells. 

"  Queeck  !  In !  "  Santiago  cried,  catching  the 
teacher  by  the  arm  and  whirling  her  behind  him. 
"  It  ees  that  Lee  White  and  hees  rustlers  '  shoot- 
ing-up  the  town,'  they  call  him.  They  can  keel 
anybody  now,  woman  too,  for  very  dru — n-h-h !  " 
For  just  then  another  shot  rang  out,  and  Santiago 
lurched  forward  across  the  threshold. 

Then  there  was  a  loud  snarl,  a  scurry,  a  yell  of 


146  BEAVO'S  DAY  OFF 

pain,  a  wild  scuffle  in  the  road.  An  exaggerated 
poodle  had  dragged  down  a  horseman  and  held 
him  by  the  throat  in  the  dust. 

"Shoot  the  brute — he's  got  Bill  foul!  "  yelled 
a  wild  rider.  Three  or  four  six-shooters  cracked, 
and  Bravo  rolled  over  without  a  yelp.  But  the 
horseman  did  not  rise.  Bravo  had  not  been  in 
fun  that  time.  Then  rifles  began  to  ring  from 
loopholed  shutters  here  and  there. 

"Time  to  git !  Bill's  done  for  !  Hit  the  road  ! " 
And  the  desperadoes  swept  down  the  echoing 
street,  firing  right  and  left  to  discourage  pursuit. 
Their  joke  of  "  shooting-up  the  town  to  scare  the 
greasers  "  had  not  been  so  funny,  after  all. 

"  Doctor  !     Kitty  !     Help  !  " 

But  Kitty  was  in  a  dead  faint  and  the  doctor 
nowhere  to  be  seen.  Miss  Parker  knelt  in  the 
lighted  doorway,  hardly  conscious  that  another 
bullet  sang  close  to  her  head,  and  clasped  her  slen- 
der hands  under  the  boy's  neck  and  dragged  the 
limp  form  into  the  room  and  barred  the  door. 
But  the  danger  was  already  over  —  the  "  rustlers  *' 
had  gone. 

"  Run  to  the  kitchen,  Kitty,"  she  cried,  at  a 
groan  of  returning  consciousness  from  the  other 
side  of  the  room,  "  and  bring  some  water  !  Fly- 
ing !  " 

She  tore  open  the  collar  of  his  woollen  shirt  and 
her  lips  grew  white  to  see  a  thin  scarlet  bubble 
that  swelled  and  shrank  with  the  heaving  of  his 


BEAVO'S  DAY  OFF  147 

chest.  At  touch  of  the  cold  water  a  little  shiver 
ran  over  him  and  the  large  dark  eyes  opened 
slowly. 

"  No  le  toc6  ?  "  he  quavered. 

"  No,  Santiago,"  she  whispered  softly.  "  You 
wouldn't  let  it  pass,  brave  boy." 

"  It  not  touched  you  !  Pues  me  alegro  !  An' 
—  I  —  t'ank  you !  " 

Then  the  faint  shadow  of  a  smile  fell  all  across 
the  gray  face  and  seemed  to  become  a  part  of  it. 
But  from  the  eyes  it  suddenly  nickered  out.  San- 
tiago had  paid  for  his  schooling. 


BONIFACIO'S   HORSE-THIEF 


BONIFACIO'S   HOESE-THIEF 

"Cfaro,  dos,  tres,  cuatro,  cinco  !  "  Five  big  white 
silver  dollars! 

Bonifacio  held  his  breath  as  he  clinked  them 
together,  and  then  reached  down  and  pinched  his 
leg  to  see  if  they  were  wide-awake  dollars  or  only 
a  dream.  Ouch  !  Evidently  they  were  no  dream. 
And  what  a  remarkably  handsome  lady,  despite 
the  rather  severe  expression  of  her  face,  was  this 
who  gazed  off  sidewise  from  them  as  if  looking 
for  the  next  one  !  But  five  pesos  !  It  was  more 
money  than  he  had  ever  seen  before  in  his  life. 
He  even  doubted  if  Don  Pablo  had  so  much,  with 
all  his  big  house  and  herds  and  hundred  peons. 

Bonifacio  walked  slowly  up  the  dusty  road,  tip- 
ping the  wonderful  discs  from  one  hand  to  the 
other,  and  with  a  very  serious  expression  upon 
his  chubby  face.  Evidently  he  was  not  one  of 
those  who  lose  their  heads  at  sudden  wealth. 
Not  he  ;  why,  he  would  have  been  just  as  demure 
about  it  if  there  had  been  six  dollars  ! 

No,  he  would  not  buy  a  horse.  He  could  ride 
whenever  he  liked,  anyhow ;  and  it  was  better  to 
151 


152  BONIFACIO'S  HORSE-THIEF 

get  something  new.  Besides,  Paca  must  have 
half  of  it,  though  girls  didn't  know  very  well  what 
to  do  with  money,  and  were  apt  to  spend  it  fool- 
ishly. And  with  the  remainder  maybe  he  would 
get  —  well,  say  a  six-shooter!  That  would  be 
pretty  fine,  eh?  Or  it  would  be  better  to  buy  a 
calf  —  then  presently  he  would  have  a  herd,  and 
be  as  great  a  man  as  Don  Pablo. 

Trudging  along  with  these  serious  questions 
see-sawing  in  his  brain  —  first  the  six-shooter  up, 
and  then  the  calf  —  he  was  around  the  corner 
close  to  the  huddled  adobes  of  Tajique1  almost 
before  he  knew  it.  " She  will  be  at  the  hera"  he 
said,  with  a  start,  and  turned  off  to  a  little  hill 
on  the  right,  where  the  threshing  sent  up  its  cloud 
of  dust  to  the  parched  sky.  Here  was  a  circular 
floor  of  hard-pounded  adobe,  fenced  with  lashed 
poles,  and  in  its  centre  a  great  stack  of  wheat. 
Inside  the  fence  a  flock  of  forty  goats  was  being 
driven  round  and  round  unceasingly,  like  a  living 
wheel,  trampling  a  bed  of  straw.  Every  now  and 
then  a  man  with  a  rude  fork  flung  more  wheat 
from  the  stack  to  the  floor ;  and  sometimes  they 
sent  the  goats  flying  about  in  the  opposite  direc- 
tion. As  Bonifacio  approached,  a  woman  let 
down  one  of  the  cross  poles,  and  the  goats  came 
scampering  out  of  the  enclosure  and  fell  to  eating 
the  chaff  at  one  side. 

i  Ta-h^e-ke. 


BONIFACIO'S  HORSE-THIEF  153 

"  Here,  thou!  "  called  old  Pancho.  "  Come  and 
help  winnow.  What  is  this,  that  boys  go  idle 
when  there  is  so  much  to  do?" 

To  work  just  now,  in  the  face  of  his  great 
wealth,  was  the  last  thing  Bonifacio  desired. 
But  Mexican  boys  are  not  used  to  saying  no  to 
the  command  or  request  of  any  one  older;  and  so, 
though  Pancho  was  not  even  a  primo  of  his  grand- 
father, the  boy  picked  up  a  forked  stick  and  fell 
to  work,  first  tucking  his  treasure  into  his  one 
sound  pocket. 

Paca  was  doing  her  share  of  work  about  as  well 
as  any  of  them,  though  she  still  lacked  very  much 
of  being  a  woman.  She  was  a  brown,  round  girl 
of  the  build  which  her  people  call  chopo,  and 
which  our  unpoetic  school-day  nicknames  termed 
"sawed-off."  Soon  she  went  off  with  her  basket 
of  wheat  and  chaff  to  the  brook. 

Bonifacio  watched  his  chance,  and  amid  the 
confusion  he  slipped  off  behind  a  gravel  hill  and 
struck  out  toward  the  arroyo. 

"Ah,  where  hast  thou  been  so  long?"  Paca 
demanded. 

"No-o,"  drawled  Bonifacio.  "Not  any  place, 
sister.  Only  down  the  road  a  so-little,  chasing 
butterflies.  But  see  what  butterflies  I  caught !  " 
he  broke  out,  unable  to  keep  the  secret  any  longer, 
clinking  the  treasure  under  her  nose. 

"The  saints!  What  riches!  And  we  need 
money  so  much,  But  how  is  this?  In  the  road, 


154  BONIFACIO'S  HORSE-THIEF 

sayest?  Then  some  one  will  have  dropped  it. 
Who  could  it  be?" 

"  I  don't  know.  Only  it  was  in  the  road.  Oh, 
yes !  "  he  added,  with  supernatural  gravity  — 
"perhaps,  it  was  the  Americano  who  came  from 
the  way  of  the  estancia  this  morning." 

"  Unashamed  !  "  cried  Paca.  "  Of  whom  else 
could  it  be?  Who  else  carries  so  much  money 
but  the  Americanos  ?  Go,  rascal,  and  seek  him,  to 
see  if  it  is  his." 

Bonifacio  hesitated  a  moment,  with  a  pleading 
look,  and  two  big  drops  rolled  down  his  cheeks. 
It  certainly  was  hard  to  tumble  from  affluence  to 
poverty  so  suddenly.  But  then  he  shut  his  lips 
bravely,  and  marched  off  along  the  uncertain  foot- 
path without  a  word. 

The  Americano  was  standing  in  front  of  the 
little  trading-store.  He  was  a  tall  bearded  fellow 
in  sadly  worn  horse-hide  coat  and  leggins,  and 
with  a  big  six-shooter  at  his  belt.  A  Winchester 
hung  at  the  horn  of  his  saddle  ;  and  the  aspect  of 
the  handsome  horse  that  stood  in  the  street,  un- 
tied, indicated  that  he  and  his  master  understood 
one  another  very  well. 

"  Hey  ?  Yo'  found  it  in  the  road,  and  'llowed 
'twas  mine  ?  "  the  stranger  ejaculated  on  hearing 
Bonifacio's  stammering  message.  "  I  hope  I  never 
may  see  the  back  o'  my  neck  !  Say,  Gow  !  "  call- 
ing to  the  storekeeper,  "yere's  a  little  Mexican 
rat  as  hez  fetched  me  five  dollars  I  lost  on  the 


BONIFACIO'S  HORSE-THIEF  155 

road.  TV  w'udn't  do  no  sech  a  trick,  wud  yo'  ? 
Well,  yo'  kid  !  Yo're  the  first  white  man  I've 
seen  in  a  week  !  Ef  yo'  reck'n  yo'  kin  handle 
them  shiners,  jest  yo'  freeze  to  'em.  I  done  lost 
'em,  and  we'll  jest  'How  I  spent  'em.  Stick  'em 
down  in  yo'r  clo'es  !  " 

Bonifacio  looked  open-eyed  at  the  stranger. 
This  was  a  very  good  man,  certainly ;  but  he 
must  be  a  little  wrong  in  the  forehead.  Giving 
away  five  dollars !  Why,  Don  Pablo  never  did 
such  a  thing  in  his  life  ;  and  as  for  Gow,  he  would 
foreclose  a  mortgage  for  less  ! 

"  Grracias,  seiior,"  he  stuttered.  "  But  are  you 
sure  ?  Probably  you  will  need  it." 

"  Go  and  take  et  to  yo'r  mammy,  kid ! "  and 
the  big  Texan  turned  to  cinch  up  his  saddle, 
while  Bonifacio  fairly  flew  down  the  street,  with 
a  face  quite  transfigured.  He  felt  twice  as  rich 
as  before,  for  now  there  was  no  question  about 
it. 

"  Good-day,  Don  Abran l !  "  he  sang  out  gayly, 
as  he  pattered  past  a  tumble-down  adobe  at  the 
corner.  But  Don  Abran,  squatting  in  his  doorway, 
only  scowled.  It  was  all  very  well  for  these  irre- 
sponsible brats  to  go  smiling  all  over  ;  they  didn't 
know  the  burdens  of  life.  But  he  saw  nothing  to 
smile  at.  Surely  there  never  was  such  an  unlucky 
man  in  the  world  before.  Everybody  admitted 
that. 

1  The  Spanish  form  of  Abraham. 


156  BONIFACIO'S  HORSE-THIEF 

It  was  a  very  quiet,  lonely  country,  over  there 
on  the  east  slope  of  the  Manzauos,  looking  out  to 
the  boundless  plains,  and  trouble  rarely  came 
near.  But  when  it  did,  it  was  sure  to  pick  out 
Abran.  No  one  else  ever  lost  animals,  save  now  and 
then  one  by  the  bog-holes  or  a  bear ;  but  a  dozen 
times  within  current  memory  Abran's  two  gaunt 
"  buckskin  "  ponies  and  his  blind  mule  had  been 
stolen.  It  was  true  that  in  the  long  run  he  had 
not  been  the  loser.  On  the  contrary,  the  three 
sorry  hacks  had  swelled  to  a  score  of  animals,  and 
among  them  were  several  very  fine  horses  —  which 
shows  how  much  can  be  saved  from  disaster  by 
using  one's  brains  and  eyesight.  Just  now  the 
dark-browed  gentleman  in  the  doorway  was  groan- 
ing inwardly.  Over  this  ?  Oh  no !  He  was 
wishing  some  one  would  happen  along  to  steal  his 
horses ! 

The  next  morning's  sun  was  barely  cracking 
from  behind  the  peak  of  the  Pedernal,  ninety 
miles  down  the  plain,  when  Bonifacio  was  already 
some  leagues  up  the  mountain,  carelessly  riding 
the  old  blaze-face  sorrel.  Volante  suddenly  pricked 
up  his  ears  and  whinnied  vociferously.  He  had 
made  no  mistake,  for  in  an  instant  there  came  an 
answer  from  away  off  to  the  right. 

"  You  old  silly !  "  cried  his  rider.  "  But  at 
least  I  will  see  what  horses  they  are,  and  maybe 
the  burros  are  with  them."  Volante  needed  no 


BONIFACIO   FAIRLY    FLEW    DOWN    THE   STREET 


BONIFACIO'S  HORSE-THIEF  157 

guidance,  and  in  a  matter  of  three  minutes  was 
rubbing  noses  across  a  brush  fence  with  an  atten- 
uated "buckskin." 

As  for  Bonifacio,  he  acted  as  if  glued  to  his 
seat.  His  big  eyes  were  bigger  than  ever,  and 
the  mischievous  face  was  twisted  to  a  solemnity 
that  would  have  fitted  a  judge  upon  the  bench. 
What  on  earth  could  it  all  mean  ? 

It  was  a  peculiar  spot.  The  ravine,  down 
which  a  brief  torrent  ran  in  time  of  rains,  headed 
here  in  a  miniature  "  box-canon  "  —  a  natural 
"  blind  alley  "  shut  on  three  sides  by  overhanging 
ledges.  In  front  two  big  pines  had  been  felled 
so  that  they  closed  the  ravine,  all  but  a  narrow 
passage,  which  was  now  piled  full  of  brush.  But 
this  was  not  what  gave  the  boy  so  perplexed  a 
look. 

"  Don  Abran's  broncos ! "  he  mused,  wagging 
his  head.  "  What  are  they  shut  up  here  for, 
where  is  neither  water  nor  grass,  and  so  far  from 
home  ?  Why,  no  one  would  ever  find  them,  unless 
knowing  the  way !  And  the  corral  is  much  used 
too,  for  the  ground  is  worn  out  with  their  hoofs. 
A  Dios  !  It  cannot  be  !  "  he  cried,  suddenly  chang- 
ing color  a  little.  And  he  pounded  his  heels  with 
might  and  main  upon  Volante's  lean  ribs,  while 
his  eyes  fairly  snapped  with  excitement. 

It  was  nearly  six  in  the  evening  when  a  big 
bearded  fellow,  riding  slowly  down  Dead  Man's 


158  BONIFACIO'S  HORSE-THIEF 

Canon  behind  two  patient-footed  pack-mules, 
drew  rein  and  turned  about  at  a  clatter  of  hoofs 
and  a  shrill  hail  from  the  rear.  A  disreputable- 
looking  sorrel,  plastered  with  foam  and  dust,  and 
a  hardly  immaculate  boy  drew  alongside. 

"  My  leg  !  "  laughed  Hank,  after  a  puzzled  stare. 
"  What  yo'  doin'  yere,  kid  ?  Find  some  more  ?  " 

"  No,  senor,"  the  boy  stammered.  "  But  I  think 
you  —  you  —  will  be  killed." 

"  Who  ?  Me  ?  Wot  with,  yo'  little  grasshopper  ?  " 
And  the  big  fellow  laughed  again.  He  'llowed  it 
would  be  some  time  before  Happy  Hank  was  in 
any  such  box  as  that!  Twenty  years  in  the 
mining  camps  and  cow  camps  of  the  frontier 
are  apt  to  give  one  the  notion  that  one  is  danger- 
proof. 

"Oh,  but  you  know  not  Abran!  He  is  not  so 
strong  as  you,  senor,  but  very  sly.  And  lie  is 
very  bad,  too.  No  one  says  anything,  for  he  is 
ugly.  But  all  have  seen  that  whenever  a  stranger 
passes  this  way,  where  so  few  come,  and  if  his 
horse  is  good,  or  his  rifle,  or  if  he  shows  money, 
then  in  the  act  Abran's  horses  are  lost.  He  is 
very  angry,  and  makes  much  noise  of  seeking 
them.  But  when  they  are  not  found  he  swears : 
4  Claro !  That  Gringo  who  passed  here  yester- 
day, he  is  the  thief ! '  Then  he  gets  a  horse  and 
takes  his  rifle  and  starts  off  on  the  trail.  And  in 
a  day  or  two  he  comes  back  riding  the  stranger's 
horse,  and  with  the  stranger's  rifle,  sometimes 


BONIFACIO'S  HORSE-THIEF  159 

even  wearing  his  hat  and  boots.  Behind  him 
come  following  his  own  horses.  So  no  one  can 
answer  anything  when  he  says :  '  Si,  he  was  the 
thief !  I  overtook  him  yonder  driving  off  my 
beasts,  and  when  I  demanded  them  he  shot  at 
me.  Then,  of  course,  I  could  do  nothing  but 
kill  him.  It  is  a  thing  unpleasant,  but  we  must 
protect  our  own.'  Thus  says  Abran  ;  and  no  one 
dares  dispute  him,  since  he  brings  back  the  horses 
for  proof.  But  many  wink  the  eye,  and  say  apart, 
'  Ay !  but  with  having  his  beasts  robbed,  Abrdn 
grows  rich  ! '  As  for  me,  I  never  dared  think  it. 
But  this  very  morning  I  found  a  secret  corral  in 
the  mountain,  where  he  hides  his  animals  that 
they  may  seem  stolen ;  and  when  I  saw  them 
there  I  understood  it  was  for  you,  senor,  so  I 
came  to  tell  you." 

Bonifacio  stopped,  quite  out  of  breath  with  the 
longest  speech  he  had  ever  made  in  his  life.  The 
stranger  reached  from  horse  to  horse,  and  gave 
him  such  a  slap  on  the  back  as  made  him  wince. 

"  'F  I  never  see  the  back  o'  my  neck  !  "  he 
growled.  "  Yo'  do  beat  my  time.  How  old  are 
yo'  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  sefior.  Perhaps  Don  Pedro 
knows,  since  he  was  my  godfather." 

"  'Bout  'leven,  I  reckon.  Wai,  yo've  got  head 
enough  fur  a  man,  and  I  hope  never  to  strike  a 
pay-streak  again  ef  yo'  ain't  one  —  and  a  white 
one !  Ez  fur  Mister  Abran,  we'll  more  or  less 


160  BONIFACIO'S  HORSE-THIEF 

discumfigurate  his  game.  He  might  'a'  potted 
me,  though,  easy  as  lyin'  abed,  from  behind. 
Now  yo'  salt  down  this  yere  dust,  then  we'll 
play  back,  and  let  Mister  Slick  run  his  nose  into 
trouble." 

He  drew  from  an  inner  pocket  a  small  buckskin 
bag,  and  thrust  it  into  Bonifacio's  hand.  It  was 
astonishingly  heavy  for  its  size. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  the  boy,  stupidly. 

"  Hey  ?  Don't  yo'  know  the  feel  o'  gold-dust  ? 
Thet's  fur  yo'  to  take  home,  with  the  best  ree- 
gards  o'  Happy  Hank  fur  a  plucky  kid  he  hez 
a  call  to  thank." 

"  Oh,  senor  !  "  and  Bonifacio's  tone  was  choky. 
"  Please  not !  I  did  not  come  to  be  paid,  but  be- 
cause you  are  so  good.  And  already  we  have  a 
deal  of  money  —  five  dollars  !  So  that  Paca  is  to 
have  a  new  dress,  and  I  think  I  shall  buy  a  six- 
shooter." 

"Wai,  I'll  be  —  never  mind,  kid,  I  didn't  go 
fur  to  hurt  yo'r  feelin's.  Why,  this  ain't  nothin' ! 
See  them  mules?  Wai,  their  four  chipas  carries 
about  seventeen  thousan'  dollars,  nigh  ez  I  kin 
reckon  it,  in  gold-dust.  I  struck  it  rich  in  the 
Oscuros,  and  now  I'm  gettin'  to  Albukerk  with 
the  clean-up.  Ef  it  hedn't  'a'  been  fur  yo',  thet 
Abran  might  'a'  got  the  whole  outfit  —  and  me 
too.  Don't  be  a  fool,  now.  I  ain't  payirf  yo'  — 
I  couldn't.  This  is  jest  friendly.  An'  yere's  a 
better  six-shooter  'n  yo'd  likely  get  fur  three 


BONIFACIO'S  HORSE-THIEF  161 

dollars,  and  it's  an  extry  load  in  my  saddle-bag, 
seein'  I  got  one  in  my  belt.  Take  'em,  now  —  or 
I'll  jump  down  yo'r  throat !  " 

Bonifacio  had  to  laugh  at  the  thought  of  such 
an  extraordinary  acrobatic  feat ;  and  he  took  the 
proffered  gifts,  the  gold  a  little  reluctantly  still. 
But  what  frontier  boy  could  refuse  a  six-shooter 
—  and  such  a  one,  big  and  silver-mounted  and 
with  an  ivory  grip? 

"Now,"  said  the  miner,  "it's  sundown,  and  it 
gits  dark  early  yere  in  the  canon.  By  wot  yo' 
say  o'  yo'r  amigo,  I  don't  'llow  he'll  tackle  a 
consumptive-lookin'  feller  like  me  till  he  hez 
everything  comin'  his  way.  Right  yonder's  a 
dead-proper  place  to  camp,  and  we'll  sort  o'  bait 
it  up  fur  him." 

At  seven  o'clock  it  was  quite  dark  down  there 
in  the  high- walled,  deep- wooded  gorge.  There 
was  no  sound  save  the  far  wail  of  a  wild-cat,  nor 
token  of  anything  astir  in  the  canon. 

At  eight  a  dark  face  peered  from  the  bushes 
under  the  north  cliff,  and  two  restless  eyes  swept 
the  woods.  Just  in  front  was  a  flickering  camp- 
fire,  whose  unsteady  light  revealed  a  horse  picketed 
with  two  mules,  a  saddle  and  two  packs  piled 
under  a  tree,  and  pillowed  on  them,  with  heavy 
boots  to  the  fire,  a  recumbent  figure. 

"  Sleep  well !  "  muttered  Abran,  between  his 
teeth.  There  was  a  click  in  the  bushes ;  and  a 


162  BONIFACIO'S  HOESE-TniEF 

slender  object  slowly  straightened  out  before  him 
as  one  keen  eye  ran  along  the  dark  barrel. 

Crack  !  At  the  report  of  the  rifle  the  horse  and 
mules  plunged  and  snorted,  but  the  prostrate 
figure  did  not  move.  Only  there  was  a  faint  low 
groan.  Abran  watched  catlike  for  a  moment,  and 
then  leaped  out  into  the  firelight,  a  long  knife 
gleaming  in  his  hand.  But  even  as  he  pounced 
upon  his  victim  there  was  a  rustle  in  the  branches 
overhead,  and  some  one  dropped  on  the  assassin's 
back. 

"  Yo'  need  a  guarcfcew,  I  'llow !  "  chuckled  Hank, 
when  he  had  bound  his  prisoner  securely.  "To 
git  ketched  thet-a-way  with  a  trick  older  'n  the 
seventeen  hills !  I  ought  to  bio  wed  yo'r  head  off, 
an'  I  shore  would,  ef  'twa'n't  fur  the  kid.  Yo're 
a  plum  nuisance,  but  I'll  jest  lug  yo'  in  to  Albu- 
kerk  for  the  sake  o'  seein'  ef  they  will  give  yo'  a 
spell  in  the  pen.  An'  ef  they  don't,  I'll  make  yo' 
wisht  they  Tied!"" 

That  was  several  years  ago,  and  some  changes 
have  come  in  that  time  even  to  the  sleepy  out- 
corners  of  New  Mexico.  But  since  the  day 
Bonifacio  took  a  certain  long  ride  there  have  been 
no  more  complaints  of  "  stolen  horses  "  about  Ta- 
jique,  and  no  more  mysterious  disappearances  of 
strangers  who  passed  that  way.  If  there  were 
any  such  lawlessnesses,  I  am  sure  they  would  be 
promptly  corrected,  for  the  new  alcalde  of  the 


BONIFACIO1 8  HORSE-THIEF  163 

village  is  no  sucli  sleepy-head  as  they  had  there 
when  I  was  younger,  nor  any  such  stuffed  pom- 
posity either.  No !  Though  to  have  become  al- 
calde is  the  height  of  human  ambition  in  such  a 
village,  the  new  man  is  not  a  bit  puffed  up,  but 
smiles,  and  calls  out,  "Como  le  va,  Don  Carlos?" 
as  affably  as  you  can  imagine,  when  I  lope  by 
with : 

"A  Dios,  Don  Bonifacio  !  " 


GREEN'S   BEAR-TRAP 


GREEN'S   BEAR-TRAP 

THE  Agua  Fria  ranch-house,  in  its  strange  and 
romantic  setting  amid  the  pine  forests  and  ancient 
lava-flows  of  the  Zufii  Mountains  in  western  New 
Mexico,  is  a  place  not  soon  forgotten.  Those  who 
know  it  are,  of  course,  comparatively  few,  for  it 
is  a  long  way  from  the  railroad  and  from  any 
town ;  and  hardly  any  one  goes  there  except  the 
cowboys  of  the  A  L  C  and  an  occasional  uneasy 
rover  like  myself.  But  of  us  few,  different  as 
are  our  notions  about  most  things,  every  mother's 
son,  I  am  sure,  has  a  soft  spot  in  his  heart  for  that 
cool  hut  in  the  wilderness.  And  down  here  where 
I  write  this,  to-day  among  the  blazing  sands  of 
the  Peruvian  deserts,  to-morrow  toiling  up  the 
naked  slopes  of  the  Andes,  there  is  no  part  of 
all  the  dear  old  Southwest  that  oftener  comes 
up  in  mind  than  this  same  Agua  Fria.  If  only 
one  tall  pine  of  them  all  could  come  to  whisper 
with  me  by  night  in  the  torrid  ruins  of  Pachaca- 
mac ;  or  if  the  dust  of  the  mummy-mining  could 
be  forgotten  in  one  long  swallow  from  that  match- 
less spring  which  rolls  ice-cold  from  under  the 
lava  behind  the  cabin !  It  is  the  very  dream  of 
167 


168  GREEN'S  BEAR-TRAP 

Tantalus.  Sometimes  there  is  even  a  feeling  that 
the  crude  and  dirty  cookery  of  these  South  Amer- 
ican tambos  might  well  be  traded  for  some  of 
"  'Gene's  "  frying-pan  bread  and  greasy  bear-steak. 

And  speaking  of  bear-steak,  reminds  me.  That 
is  one  of  the  things  wherein  tastes  differ.  Some 
of  us  like  Agua  Fria  partly  because  it  is  a  great 
bear  country  ;  and  Manager  Saint's  shrewd  face 
never  twinkled  jollier  than  when  there  was  a  fair 
excuse  for  visiting  that  utmost  corner  of  the 
ninety-seven-thousand-acre  ranch ;  the  bolstered 
rifle  hanging  in  reach  at  the  side  of  the  stout  buck- 
board,  while  Ned  and  Jerry,  the  two  old  grays, 
rattled  up  hill  and  down,  all  day  long.  It  is  a 
great  region  for  game.  One  may  often  see  deer, 
antelope,  and  wild  turkey,  and  sometimes  even  kill 
them,  from  the  buckboard.  As  for  bear,  it  is  one 
of  the  best  hunting-grounds  in  New  Mexico.  A 
place  where  bear  rob  your  pantry  regularly,  and 
even  pull  you  out  of  bed  at  night,  would  be  pretty 
good  for  the  sportsman,  even  without  the  noble 
pineries  and  the  old  volcanoes  and  the  canons 
which  endear  that  lonely  spot  to  all  who  can  feel 
the  love  of  Nature.  The  bears  of  Agua  Fria  have 
been  known  to  do  that  very  thing.  If  you  doubt 
it  at  all,  you  can  ask  Green,  who  could  tell  the 
details  much  more  eloquently  than  I,  but  for  his 
modesty. 

That  seemed  to  be  a  regular  bargain-year  for 
bear  (it  is  seven  years  ago,  now);  for  I  never 


GREEN'S  SEAR-TRAP  169 

knew  the  clumsy  but  witty  brutes  to  be  so  trouble- 
some, at  Agua  Fria  or  anywhere  else.  The  whole 
region  is  full  of  lava-beds  and  craters  of  extinct 
volcanoes;  and  bears,  wild-cats,  and  mountain  lions 
are  always  plentiful  enough  in  those  interminable 
safe  hiding-places.  But  that  year,  as  Jimmy 
Frye  remarked  to  me,  "  Yo'  jest  cain't  walk  with- 
out steppin'  on  b'ar  !  "  We  must  allow  a  trifle 
for  the  cowboy  license  of  the  stanchest  old  cook 
that  ever  followed  a  round-up ;  but  Jimmy's 
statement  was  not  so  wild  as  it  looks.  How  we 
all  laughed  when  Fred  Wool  "  stepped  on  a 
bear !  "  Fred  was  a  station  agent,  down  on  the 
railroad,  and  had  come  up  here  to  rest  from  the 
hard  work  of  doing  nothing  all  day.  He  was  a 
splendid  rifle-shot  —  I  have  often  seen  him  fetch 
a  running  or  a  flying  quail  —  and  was  eager  to 
prove  his  hand  on  nobler  game  than  he  had  yet 
encountered.  A  few  days  before  his  arrival  the 
"boys"  had  lassoed  a  bear,  over  in  a  valley  to 
the  west,  had  branded  it  with  the  brand  of  the 
ALC,  and  turned  it  loose.  That  fired  Fred's 
ambition,  and,  borrowing  an  ancient  horse,  he 
started  off,  with  his  latest  investment  in  rifles 
strapped  at  the  saddle-horn.  All  day  long  old 
Bess  picked  her  conservative  way  among  the 
jagged  lava-blocks,  over  round  swales  and  down 
beautiful  "  draws  ;  "  and  Fred  grew  discouraged, 
for  nothing  bigger  than  a  cottontail  had  he  seen. 
He  had  turned  back  toward  camp,  down  a  little 


170  GREEN'S  BEAR-TRAP 

canon,  and  was  riding  along  the  side  of  a  huge 
fallen  pine. 

Suddenly  from  the  other  side  of  the  log,  less 
than  ten  feet  away,  uprose  a  shaggy  brown  mass. 
It  was  a  creature  as  big  as  the  biggest  steer  on 
the  A  L  C  range  ;  but  no  one  ever  knew  one  of 
Saint's  cattle  to  sit  up  on  its  haunches  and  gaze 
questioningly  into  the  face  of  a  stranger.  Decid- 
edly, it  was  not  a  steer,  and  decidedly  it  was  the 
very  thing  Fred  had  been  looking  for  so  eagerly. 
Maybe  you  have  noticed  that  when  the  thing  for 
which  we  have  been  wishing  with  all  our  might 
unexpectedly  comes  true,  it  sometimes  doesn't 
seem  so  nice,  after  all,  as  we  had  figured  that  it 
would.  Perhaps  this  wasn't  as  fat  a  bear  as  Fred 
had  made  up  his  mouth  for ;  or  maybe  the  color 
was  not  just  what  he  wished  to  match  his  carpet 
in  the  little  bedroom  over  the  station.  At  any 
rate,  I  feel  safe  in  saying  that  he  was  disappointed 
—  and  it  certainly  wasn't  that  the  bear  was  too 
small. 

For  some  seconds  the  two  strangers  stared  at 
each  other  with  a  fixity  that  in  some  company 
would  be  deemed  wholly  rude.  Then  blind 
Bess  chanced  to  turn  her  good  eye  and  discovered 
the  meaning  of  the  halt  —  whereupon  she  dis- 
played an  agility  no  one  had  seen  in  her  in  twenty 
years.  After  two  hundred  yards  Fred  remem- 
bered that  the  specific  purpose  for  which  he  had 
been  hunting  a  bear  was  to  kill  it  ;  and  having 


GREEN'S  BEAR-TRAP  171 

stopped  Bess,  he  tied  her  to  a  stump.  Holding 
his  Winchester  ready,  he  walked  back  about  half- 
way to  bruin,  and  climbed  a  pine  —  reflecting 
that  from  its  fork  he  could  take  surer  aim  than 
off-hand.  But  somehow  the  height  made  the  bear 
look  bigger  than  ever ;  and  gazing  first  at  this 
huge  beast,  and  then  back  at  poor  bony  Bess,  one 
must  have  been  a  less  thoughtful  person  than 
Fred  is  not  to  think  how  small  a  chance  the  horse 
would  stand  if  the  bear  went  that  way.  So,  like 
the  merciful  boy  he  is,  Fred  climbed  down  from 
his  tree,  walked  to  Bess,  led  her  a  few  hundred 
yards  further  away,  and  tied  her  to  a  pine  limb. 
Such  consideration  ought  to  have  been  rewarded  ; 
but  alas,  when  Fred  got  back  to  his  tree,  the 
wearied  bear  had  gone  —  and  he  never  saw  an- 
other. 

But  Green,  being  less  considerate,  had  better 
luck  and  more  sport.  A  few  weeks  after  Fred's 
adventure,  the  cowboys  began  to  prepare  for 
winter.  The  weather  grew  very  cold  —  Agua 
Fria  is  over  seven  thousand  feet  above  sea-level 
—  and  appetites  began  to  sharpen,  inside  the  house 
as  well  as  outside.  The  average  rapidity  with 
which  five  cowboys  can  eat  their  way  through 
a  whole  beef  is  rather  bewildering  ;  and  now  the 
quarters  of  meat  did  not  last  even  as  long  as 
usual.  The  only  refrigerator  used  in  Agua  Fria 
at  any  time  of  year  was  the  shady  side  of  the 


172  GREEN'S  BEAR-TRAP 

house.  In  that  rare,  arid  air,  meat  hung  outside 
keeps  indefinitely,  even  in  summer.  But  the 
bears  were  hungry  too,  and  got  in  the  way  of  rob- 
bing the  refrigerator  every  night.  Green  thought 
to  stop  this  thievery  by  lashing  the  meat  solidly 
to  the  logs  of  the  eaves.  But  the  ropes  did  not 
count  —  if  they  had  not  given  way,  then  the  roof 
would  have  had  to.  The  most  provoking  part  of 
it  was  that  the  sly  rascals  never  came  till  every 
one  was  asleep.  Then  one  swipe  with  their  terrific 
forearms,  and  they  were  off  with  the  meat  and 
into  the  lava  (which  begins  within  twenty  feet  of 
the  house)  before  any  one  could  snatch  a  gun. 
And  a  bear  is  so  clever  !  If  any  one  sat  up  in  the 
dark,  rifle  in  hand,  that  night  no  bear  came  near. 
But  just  so  sure  as  every  one  fell  asleep,  every  one 
was  wakened  by  a  great  wrenching  and  creaking 
of  the  log-house,  and  heard  a  vague  patter  and 
a  curious  snuffle  —  and  next  day  there  was  the 
job  of  hunting,  killing,  and  cleaning  another  steer 
to  take  the  place  of  the  stolen  meat. 

In  a  word,  the  bears  became  an  unbearable  nui- 
sance, and  no  one  saw  a  clear  way  out  of  it.  No 
one,  that  is,  except  Green;  and  he  determined 
that  he  would  "fix  'em."  Green  was  not  exactly 
a  cowboy  yet  —  and  we  all  had  serious  doubts  if 
he  ever  would  be.  By  profession  he  was  a  tele- 
graph operator  on  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific  Rail- 
road; but,  having  trouble  with  his  lungs  and  wish- 
ing to  rough  it  a  little,  he  had  arranged  to  "  ride  " 


GREEN'S  BEAR-TRAP  173 

on  the  A  L  C  for  his  board.  The  last  time  I 
saw  Green  —  which  was  when  my  wife  and  I  had 
broken  into  his  cabin  at  Cebollita,  and  he  returned 
to  find  us  making  havoc  with  his  bacon  and  fri- 
joles1  —  the  piney  air  and  the  outdoor  life  had 
made  a  new  man  of  him ;  and  he  had  learned  a 
few  things,  too.  But  at  the  time  of  the  plague 
of  bears,  he  was  still  very  "new." 

Green  had  not  been  idle  in  his  lonely  telegraph 
office.  He  had  read  a  good  deal,  and  had  gathered 
ideas ;  and,  thus  educated  on  the  exploits  of  paper 
travellers,  he  felt  his  invention  much  superior  to 
that  of  the  unread  veterans  of  the  range. 

When  the  next  steer  was  cut  up,  Green  begged 
the  head.  Taking  a  turn  around  the  horns  with 
his  reata,  he  wound  the  free  end  of  the  rope  on 
his  saddle-horn,  and  set  spurs  to  his  horse.  In 
this  fashion,  he  dragged  the  bumping  head  around 
a  circuit  of  four  or  five  miles,  finally  bringing  it 
back  to  the  south  door  of  the  cabin.  He  had 
trailed  a  scent  which  was  pretty  sure  to  attract 
some  brute;  and  now  all  that  remained  was  to 
shoot  his  game  when  it  should  arrive. 

"  But  s'posen  yo're  asleep  when  the  b'ar  comes  ?  " 
growled  Hank. 

"Never  you  fret  about  that,"  retorted  Green. 
"  I've  got  it  down  fine.  I'm  going  to  leave  the 
loop  on  the  horns,  and  the  other  end  I'll  tie  to 

1  Which  was  etiquette  in  the  good  days  of  the  frontier. 


174  GREEN'S  BEAR-TRAP 

my  foot.  So  when  Mr.  Bear  goes  to  walk  off 
with  the  bait,  he'll  wake  me  up,  and  I'll  give 
him  lead  enough  to  start  a  mine." 

I  know  Hank  turned  pale,  and  I  have  a  notion 
that  I  did.  Then,  I  am  positive,  we  both  turned 
red.  It  is  lucky  Hank  was  there;  for  he  is  a 
sober,  kindly  fellow,  and  I  might  have  done  a 
very  wrong  thing.  But  Hank  spoke  out  in  his 
quiet  way : 

"  Say,  son !  'F  I  wus  yo',  I'd  jest  sorto  hitch 
thet  larriat  onto  the  bedpost.  A  man  cain't  sleep, 
nohow,  with  his  hind  foot  roped  like  a  yearlin'." 

Green  accepted  the  reasonable  suggestion  with 
a  little  demur. 

"  But  suppose  he  don't  wake  me,  that  way  ?  " 

"  Don't  yo'  lose  no  sleep,  son.  He'll  shore  wake 
yo'  ef  he  takes  the  head." 

The  bedsteads  were  of  ponderous  pine  logs — 
far  heavier  than  any  four-poster  of  our  great- 
grandfathers ;  and  Green's  was  in  the  farther 
corner  of  the  room  from  the  door.  Hank's  bunk 
was  nearer  the  door,  and  my  camp-bed  was  on 
the  floor  close  by. 

Green  hauled  the  frayed  steer-head  up  within 
twenty  feet  of  the  door,  brought  in  the  end  of 
his  rope  and  tied  it  in  a  "  three-ply  "  to  the  bed- 
frame.  Then  he  filled  the  magazine  of  his  Win- 
chester, and  set  the  rifle  up  at  the  head  of  his 
bed,  where  it  would  be  in  easy  reach.  He  also 
gave  his  six-shooter  a  careful  oiling. 


GREEN'S  BEAR-TRAP  175 

Cowboy  evenings  are  short,  for  the  day  has 
always  been  a  hard  one,  and  to-morrow  will  be- 
gin at  four  o'clock.  An  unusual  interest  kept 
every  one  awake  until  after  ten.  Then  the  talk 
grew  more  and  more  "scattering."  Suddenly 
Hank's  serious  snore  broke  out;  and,  a  little 
later,  Green's  husky  breathing  told  that  he,  too, 
had  succumbed.  My  last  memory  is  of  a  drowsy 
glance  through  the  open  door  into  the  broad, 
white  moonlight,  and  hearing  the  tiny  ripple  of 
the  spring  and  the  whisper  of  the  pines. 

It  must  have  been  two  in  the  morning  when 
something  happened.  There  was  a  terrible  creak 
and  roar  —  the  peculiar  sound,  unlike  anything 
else  on  earth,  of  a  heavy  pine  frame  in  agony. 
And  the  picture  to  which  that  wild  sound  awoke 
us  was  never  to  be  forgotten.  Green's  bed  was 
galloping  toward  the  door,  half  its  legs  off  the 
floor  at  once ;  and  Green,  startled  from  sleep, 
sitting  upright  and  dazed  on  his  strange  vehicle, 
crying,  "  Wha — what?"  His  rifle,  touched  by 
a  sarcastic  moonbeam,  leaned  lazily  against  the 
wall  in  the  farther  corner. 

That  remarkable  pageant  marched  as  far  as  the 
door ;  and  had  the  house  been  one  of  our  flimsy 
shells,  it  is  very  probable  that  the  ponderous  bed- 
stead would  have  taken  out  the  casing,  if  not  the 
whole  side.  But  when  it  crashed  against  that 
mighty  wall  of  forty-foot  logs,  sixteen  inches 
square,  the  rope  broke,  and  the  bed  stopped. 


176  GREEN'S  BEAR-TRAP 

Only  Green  kept  on  —  and  finally  sat  down  among 
the  rocks  and  tin  cans  nearly  twenty  feet  in  front 
of  the  house. 

That  is  all  we  saw.  By  the  time  we  could  clam- 
ber over  the  upturned  bedstead  and  get  out  of  the 
door,  all  was  still,  except  for  some  groans  from 
Green.  The  steer's  head  was  gone  ;  and  we  have 
always  suspected  that  something  must  have  walked 
away  with  it  —  not  forgetting  to  waken  Green  in 
so  doing.  Green  shares  this  opinion,  and  for  some 
reason  has  always  since  that  time  spoken  of  bears 
in  a  tone  of  regret. 

The  incident  —  for  this  is  a  true  story,  except 
the  names  —  has  become  a  proverb  in  that  part  of 
New  Mexico  ;  and  if  "  Pete  "  or  "  Indian  Charley  " 
or  "  Handsome  Anse,"  or  even  "  the  Old  Man " 
himself  were  to  run  across  me  in  Peru  to-morrow, 
we  should  not  get  far  past  the  greetings  before 
one  or  the  other  would  be  sure  to  say :  "  And 
Green's  bear-trap  !  Say,  I  reckon  he'd  be  travel- 
ling yet  if  he'd  tied  the  bait  the  way  he  was  going 
to!" 


MY   SMALLEST   SITTER 


MY   SMALLEST   SITTER 


THROUGH  ten  years  of  wanderings,  upon  the 
frontiers  of  North  and  South  America,  my  camera 
has  been  my  inseparable  chum.  What  hard  knocks 
we  have  taken  together,  too !  In  one  way  it  was 
almost  as  much  of  a  nuisance  as  a  human  compan- 
ion ;  for  it  was  no  toy,  but  a  full-grown  camera, 
and  hard  to  carry.  We  have  together  jolted  over 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  miles  in  New  Mexico  and 
Arizona  alone,  —  on  trains,  engines,  hand-cars  ;  in 
sulkies,  buckboards,  farm  wagons  and  clumsy 
car r etas ;  on  mules,  on  horses,  on  burros,  on  foot. 

We  have  "  caught "  the  savage  dances  of  half- 
known  Indians  with  living  rattlesnakes  in  their 
hands  and  mouths ;  the  crucifixion  of  a  fanatic, 
and  the  inconceivable  self-tortures  of  his  flagellant 
brethren  ;  witches  and  bewitched ;  and  a  thousand 
other  remarkable  sights. 

We  have  "  focussed  "  in  the  face  of  inhospitable 
six-shooters  —  and  with  our  own  lying  cocked 
across  the  top  of  the  "box."  And  while  the 
results  chanced  to  be  very  satisfactory,  I  must 
admit  that  I  prefer  photography  without  that  sort 
of  a  "finder."  We  have  been  very  ill-mannered 
179 


180  MY  SMALLEST  SITTER 

many  times,  I  fear,  and  pictured  many  people 
against  their  will  —  sometimes  by  the  mild  per- 
suasion above  referred  to,  and  sometimes  merely 
by  winging  them  with  the  instantaneous  shutter  as 
they  ran  away.  Enthusiasts  are  always  liable  to 
sin  a  little  in  this  fashion,  and  to  place  their  own 
zeal  ahead  of  the  rights  of  others.  I  cannot  fully 
apologize  for  these  things ;  but,  though  the  col- 
lector's mania  was  probably  the  strongest  motive, 
it  was  then  and  is  now  a  little  comfort  to  know 
that  the  results  were  of  value  to  science  and  to 
history.  When  it  comes  to  extraordinary  rites 
which  never  were  pictured  before,  and  never  can 
be  pictured  again,  perhaps  the  student  may  be 
pardoned  for  photographing  people  who  have  very 
serious  objections  to  being  photographed. 

Thousands  of  miles  I  carried  my  mahogany  chum 
pickaback,  when  there  was  no  pack-beast  to  be 
had  in  the  wilderness.  Once,  on  such  a  trip,  the 
camera  had  a  curious  escape.  My  left  arm  was  at 
that  time  powerless  and  everything  had  to  be  done 
with  one  hand.  My  beautiful  horse  Alazan  was 
a  young  bronco,  lassoed  out  of  a  herd  of  wild 
horses,  broken  by  my  own  hand,  and  learning  very 
well  indeed  —  but  still  retaining  many  traits  of 
the  days  when  he  had  been  just  as  really  a  wild 
beast  as  a  bear  is.  He  had  never  seen  a  house,  nor 
a  rope,  nor  a  man  unless  at  a  distance,  till  the  day 
I  first  rode  him.  And  he  had  not  quite  forgotten 
how  to  "  buck ; "  that  is,  leap  five  or  six  feet  in 


MY  SMALLEST  SITTER  181 

the  air  and  come  down  with  his  legs  stiff  and  his 
feet  in  a  bunch,  with  a  jar  calculated  to  send  the 
rider  very  high  indeed.  Hundreds  of  times  he 
performed  this  tumbling,  and  on  this  day,  for  the 
second  time  in  his  career,  threw  me.  We  were 
jogging  across  the  arid  plain  so  contentedly,  when 
a  big  jack-rabbit  sprang  out  from  under  our  very 
feet  and  went  streaking  down  the  desert.  I 
snatched  the  light  shot-gun  from  its  holster  and 
sent  Don  Jack  turning  half  a  dozen  somersaults  ; 
and  in  the  same  instant  Alazan  —  who  had  not  yet 
learned  the  proper  spirit  about  shooting  from  the 
saddle  —  lifted  me  certainly  ten  feet  aloft.  I  also 
turned  several  times  on  my  own  axis,  and  alighted 
squarely  on  my  shoulders  —  and  therefore  upon 
the  camera  in  my  knapsack.  The  fall  jarred  me 
so  that  it  was  some  minutes  before  I  could  rise  ; 
but  by  a  strange  fortune  did  not  break  even  the 
ground  glass  of  the  camera.  It  was  doubtless  due 
to  the  fact  that  the  knapsack,  was  one  I  had  made 
of  sheep  pelts,  with  the  wool  inward,  which  "  took 
up  "  the  recoil. 

Another  time,  in  the  Navajo  wilderness,  the 
precious  machine  was  in  one  end  of  my  sleeping- 
bag,  balanced  across  a  pack-mule,  with  our  pro- 
visions in  the  other  end.  The  mule  took  fright 
when  a  rifle-ball  from  a  prowling  Navajo  creased 
her  head,  and  ran  away  with  an  agility  which 
would  have  been  delightfully  humorous  if  rather 
unlaughable  matters  had  not  just  then  claimed  my 


182  MY  SMALLEST  SITTER 

thoughts.  When  I  finally  overhauled  her,  after 
a  ten-mile  chase,  the  scrub  junipers  had  torn  my 
blanket-bag  to  pieces,  the  camera  in  its  box  had 
fallen  down  a  gully,  and  our  bread,  coffee,  and 
beans  were  strewn  along  a  league.  And  still 
nothing  was  broken.  That  box  with  its  precious 
freight  has  rolled  down  a  young  precipice,  now 
over  and  now  under  the  pack-mule  ;  it  has  been 
shot  at  and  cursed  and  kicked  and  abused  —  and 
yet,  in  its  more  than  three-fourths  of  a  million 
miles  of  travels,  I  have  never  broken  a  glass  plate 
en  route,  and  only  three  ground  glasses  ! 

Yes,  it  is  rather  a  travelled  camera.  It  has 
made  photographs  three  hundred  feet  below  the 
level  of  the  sea  —  in  the  deserts  of  the  Rio  Colo- 
rado —  and  19,600  feet  nearer  the  sky,  in  the 
Andes.  It  has  worked  amid  lava-beds  and  in 
eternal  snow.  It  has  pictured  life  and  death, 
animal  and  man,  the  highest  civilization  and  the 
wildest  savagery.  It  has  recorded  for  me  the 
faces  of  my  own  babies  and  of  thousands  of  quaint 
brown  babies  that  are  just  as  human  and  just  as 
well-beloved  as  mine  —  and  a  lot  funnier.  It  has 
shared  with  me  a  thousand  humors,  a  thousand 
tendernesses,  and  not  a  few  tragedies. 

And  after  all  this,  the  smallest  and  perhaps  the 
prettiest  object  on  which  we  ever  focussed  our 
joint  attention  came  to  us  only  a  little  while 
before  we  left  our  dear  old  adobe  home  in  New 
Mexico  to  try  farther  and  wilder  lands. 


MY  SMALLEST  SITTER  183 

We  had  been  revelling  for  the  fortieth  time  in 
the  wonders  of  high-perched  Acoma,  the  strangest 
little  city  in  the  world,  amid  whose  peerless  cliffs 
one  never  wearies  of  picture-making.  Coming 
down  to  its  daughter  pueblo  of  Laguna,  I  was 
passing  the  evening  in  one  of  the  rare  oases  of 
New  Mexico,  talking  disjointed  Queres  to  a  deep- 
eyed  two-year-old  Laguna  maiden. 

In  the  midst  of  our  chatter  there  came  a  curious 
buzzing,  and  my  little  Indian  friend  began  to  clap 
her  hands  at  something  which  was  whirring  along 
the  vigas  of  the  roof. 

It  was  a  humming-bird  —  the  tiny  chuparosa, 
which  my  aboriginal  neighbors  declare  has  been 
nearer  than  any  other  creature  to  the  sun.  In  the 
mythical  Contest  of  Wings,  the  turkey-buzzard 
flew  higher  than  the  eagle,  but  lost  the  race 
because  the  sly  chuparosa  had  all  the  time  been 
quietly  perched  on  the  turkey-buzzard's  head,  and 
so  had  been  higher  than  he  ! 

This  little  visitor,  who  had  come  by  the  open 
door  into  the  light  and  laughter  so  late  at  night, 
was  a  female  of  the  tiniest  species  of  humming- 
bird, not  nearly  so  large  as  the  two  first  joints  of 
my  finger.  Her  exquisite  brown  plumage  was 
almost  as  small  as  butterflies'  feathers  ;  she  was 
mottled  under  the  throat,  and  iridescent  with 
emerald  on  head  and  neck. 

Weary  of  beating  her  translucent  wings  against 
the  walls,  she  alighted  upon  the  top  of  a  cupboard. 


184  MY  SMALLEST  SITTER 

I  stole  up  and  put  rny  forefinger  under  her  breast, 
lifting  very  gently.  The  ruse  worked  —  in  a 
moment  she  fluttered  up  lightly  and  perched  upon 
my  finger. 

I  walked  carefully  to  the  lamp  at  the  other  end 
of  the  room  ;  and  there  we  all  stood  looking  at 
our  tiny  visitor,  our  big  faces  within  a  foot  of  her. 

She  was  perfectly  self-possessed.  Cocking  her 
little  head  to  one  side,  she  returned  our  stare  from 
an  eye  so  tiny  as  to  be  barely  visible,  and  kept  her 
strange  perch  for  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
before  she  decided  to  explore  the  room  more  fully. 

"  Say!  "  I  cried  to  my  wife,  "  I  believe  we  can 
get  this  lady's  picture.  Let's  try  it." 

We  got  out  the  camera,  marked  a  spot  on  the 
«/es0-whitened  wall,  and  focussed.  Then  I  gently 
poked  la  chuparosa,  who  at  once  cheerfully  re- 
sumed her  perch  on  my  finger. 

It  was  a  queer  contrast  —  my  squat,  hard  hand, 
rough  and  rope-burned  with  the  breaking  of  a 
savage  bronco,  upholding  that  tiniest,  tenderest, 
and  loveliest  of  all  the  feathered  world. 

Here  was  a  sitter  whose  head  I  could  not 
clamp,  and  to  whom  I  could  not  say,  "  Now  look 
pleasant ; "  but  never  was  artist  more  concerned 
than  I  about  a  pose. 

The  flash-lamp  refused  to  work,  and  we  had  to 
burn  the  magnesium  powder  on  a  paper,  with 
many  struggles.  There  was  strong  probability 
that  our  puzzled  sitter  would  fly  away,  or  turn 


MY  SMALLEST  SITTER  185 

the  back  of  her  head  to  us,  or  in  some  other  way 
spoil  the  desired  effect.  But  just  as  the  flash 
went  off,  she  was  watching  us  out  of  a  corner  of 
her  eye,  and  the  magic  glass  caught  the  very 
image  we  wished. 

In  the  morning  I  took  our  little  guest  out  into 
a  field  breast-high  with  the  purple  guaco.  She 
poised  an  instant  on  my  hand,  and  then  flew  off 
as  blithely  as  if  she  had  been  all  her  life  used  to 
sitting  for  her  photograph. 


OUR   WORST   SNAKE 


OUR   WORST   SNAKE 


THE  Southwest  is  more  liberally  supplied  with 
venomous  things  than  any  other  area  in  the 
Union.  In  the  burning  deserts,  in  the  inhabited 
but  arid  expanses  of  New  Mexico  and  Arizona, 
the  rattlesnake  abounds,  and  in  several  varieties, 
—  including  the  strange  and  deadly  "  sidewinder," 
Crotalus  cerastes.  The  so-called  tarantula —  really 
only  a  gigantic  bush  spider,  but  none  the  less 
dangerous  because  of  the  misnomer  —  is  fairly 
common.  Scorpions  are  none  too  rare  in  the 
southern  portions  of  the  territories,  and  in  all 
parts  centipedes  of  seven  to  eight  inches  long  are 
frequent  and  neighborly.  I  shall  never  forget 
the  shock  a  well-known  Eastern  artist  received  in 
1890,  when  he  was  visiting  me  in  the  pueblo  of 
Isleta.  My  house  was  an  adobe,  rented  from  one 
of  my  Indian  fellow-citizens ;  and  for  the  first 
time  the  mice  had  begun  to  annoy  me.  On  dis- 
covering their  first  tunnel  through  the  wall,  I 
procured  a  trap  —  one  of  the  sort  which  snaps 
up  with  a  wire  noose  under  the  throat  of  his 
mouseship  —  and  set  it  snugly  against  the  mouth 
of  the  hole.  We  had  just  come  in  from  a  trip  to 
189 


190  OUR   WORST  SNAKE 

the  wonderful  Indian  pueblo  of  Acoma,  "  the  city 
in  the  sky,"  eaten  one  of  my  "bach  "  suppers,  and 
were  smoking  and  conversing,  when  suddenly  I 
heard  the  click  of  the  trap.  Still  talking,  I  walked 
over  to  the  corner,  reached  down  behind  my 
trunk,  picked  up  the  trap,  and  came  back  to  the 
table  with  it.  A  howl  from  my  guest  as  he 
sprang  from  his  chair  caused  me  to  glance  for 
the  first  time  at  the  trap  —  and  to  drop  it  and  my 
unfinished  sentence  together.  For  the  catch  was 
no  mouse,  but  a  huge  centipede  I  He  had  crawled 
through  the  hole  and  against  the  trigger  of  the 
trap,  which  promptly  wired  him  near  the  head. 
Good  luck  that  my  careless  hand  had  grasped  the 
trap  and  not  its  wriggling  captive  !  After  the 
"  baching  "  days  were  over,  and  the  adobe  had  be- 
come rather  more  a  home,  my  wife  killed  several  of 
these  ugly  creatures  —  some  on  the  floor,  and  one 
as  it  was  crawling  out  from  a  crack  in  the  casing 
of  the  kitchen  door. 

But  it  should  not  be  imagined  that  life  in  the 
Southwest  is  a  constant  menace  on  account  of  these 
disagreeable  neighbors.  On  the  contrary,  far  more 
people  are  killed  and  injured  in  the  East  just  by 
slipping  on  sidewalks  than  in  New  Mexico  by  all 
noxious  creatures  put  together ;  and  no  one  would 
think  of  saying,  "No,  I  wouldn't  dare  live  in 
New  York,  because  there  are  sidewalks  there  !  " 
The  chance  is  too  infinitesimal  in  both  cases  to 
be  taken  into  sober  account.  Many  people  live 


OUE   WORST  SNAKE  191 

for  years  in  the  territory  and  never  once  see  one 
of  these  pests.  Still,  there  are  plenty  of  unpleas- 
ant reptiles  and  insects  in  the  territory ;  and  once 
in  a  very  great  while  some  one  suffers  by  them. 
I  have  seen  one  Mexican  boy  whose  whole  hand 
and  forearm  were  ruined  —  withered  and  wasted 
to  a  dreadful  sight  —  by  the  crawling  of  a  centi- 
pede across  his  hand.  He  brushed  it  off,  and  paid 
bitterly  for  that  very  natural  but  unwise  action. 
Had  he  shut  his  teeth  and  let  the  ugly  thing  pass 
on,  it  would  have  done  him  little  if  any  harm;  but 
at  the  first  sign  of  hostilities,  it  buried  in  his  skin 
the  tiny  fangs  with  which  its  scores  of  feet  are 
tipped.  The  flesh  sloughed  away  until  the  hand 
and  arm  were  only  a  distorted  skeleton ;  and  only 
a  careful  doctor  saved  the  lad's  life.  There  have 
been  cases  of  death  from  the  bite  of  a  bush  spider, 
and  others  of  serious  maiming  ;  but  they  are  very 
rare,  and  the  result  seems  to  depend  largely  upon 
the  condition  of  the  victim's  blood. 

Rattlesnakes  are  much  commoner  than  I  have 
found  them  in  any  other  country,  and  I  gathered 
there  a  great  many  of  their  beautiful  skins  and 
strange  rattles.  But  people  are  almost  never  hurt 
by  them.  The  rattlesnake  is  the  fairest — I  had  al- 
most said  the  manliest — of  all  reptiles,  and  it  would 
be  well  if  all  humankind  were  as  free  from  sneak- 
ing as  he  is.  He  never  attacks  wantonly ;  and 
even  when  provoked  will  not  strike  without  first 
giving  warning.  The  danger  of  a  bite  depends 


192  OUR   WORST  SNAKE 

upon  so  many  things  that  it  is  hard  to  classify. 
The  age  of  the  snake,  the  weather,  the  long  or 
short  time  since  he  has  struck  at  anything,  the 
condition  of  the  person  bitten  —  and,  above  all,  the 
location  of  the  bite  —  cause  a  variation  of  result 
from  death  in  a  few  minutes  to  a  painful  but  not 
dangerous  sickness  of  a  fortnight.  The  venom  of 
the  rattler  is  not  so  powerful  as  that  of  the  cobra  ; 
and  unless  it  enters  a  considerable  blood-vessel,  so 
as  to  reach  the  whole  circulation  quickly,  a  man 
of  sound  blood  need  not  scare  himself  to  death 
over  the  bite.  The  "  sidewinder,"  or  horned 
rattlesnake,  peculiar  to  the  desert,  seems  to  have 
a  more  vicious  arsenal ;  and  recovery  from  his 
bite  is  rarer. 

But  the  deadliest  snake  in  North  America  is 
the  tiny  and  devilish  little  pichu-cuate,  who  quite 
matches  the  worst  serpent  of  India.  Not  only 
the  most  highly  venomous,  but  the  most  treacher- 
ous, he  would  be  also  the  most  dangerous  were  he 
not,  luckily,  the  rarest.  He  is  the  only  true  asp 
on  this  continent  ;  and  in  the  United  States  is 
never  found  outside  New  Mexico  and  Arizona. 
That  he  was  also  known  to  the  ancient  Mexicans 
is  apparent  from  his  name,  which  was  brought  up 
to  our  territory  by  the  Spanish  conquerors.1  In 
all  my  explorations  of  the  two  territories,  covering 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  miles  of  travel  and  into 

1  Pichu-coatl,  an  Aztec  word.  The  present  name  is  pro- 
nounced Pftchoo-kwah-te. 


OUR    WORST  SNAKE  193 

the  remotest  corners,  I  have  seen  but  three  pichu- 
cuates  —  and  all,  unluckily,  where  it  was  impossi- 
ble to  preserve  them.  In  the  same  time  I  found 
and  killed  hundreds  of  rattlesnakes,  of  all  sorts  and 
sizes  —  a  sport  of  which  I  must  confess  myself 
very  fond.  But  used  as  I  am  to  snakes,  the  pichu- 
cuate  always  gives  me  a  shock. 

My  first  meeting  with  one  was  in  Valencia 
County,  New  Mexico,  in  June,  1889,  on  the  sandy 
flanks  of  the  Cerro  del  Aire.  I  was  out  hunting 
jack-rabbits,  in  company  with  some  Indian  friends, 
and  had  dismounted  to  stalk,  leading  my  pet  horse 
by  the  bridle.  My  eyes  were  on  a  small  chaparro 
bush  ahead,  when  suddenly  Alazan  snorted,  and 
reared  backward  so  violently  as  almost  to  unhinge 
my  arm.  I  looked  about  in  surprise,  for  Alazan 
was  too  good  a  horse  to  mind  trifles.  As  there 
was  nothing  to  be  seen,  I  started  to  pull  him  for- 
ward. Again  he  protested  and  with  evident  terror, 
and,  chancing  to  look  at  my  very  feet,  I  under- 
stood his  fear,  and  felt  very  grateful  that  his  senses 
were  better  than  mine,  for  in  another  step  I  should 
have  walked  upon  my  death. 

The  only  thing  visible  was  a  tiny  object,  not 
nearly  so  large  as  a  good  stag-beetle  —  merely  a 
head,  and  perhaps  an  inch  of  neck.  But  it  was 
the  most  frightful  object  in  its  kind  that  I  had 
ever  seen.  The  head,  certainly  neither  so  broad 
nor  so  long  as  my  thumb-nail,  had  a  shape  and  an 
air  of  condensed  malignity  impossible  to  describe. 


194  OUR   WORST  SNAKE 

It  seemed  the  very  essence  of  wickedness  and  hate, 
fairly  bulging  with  deadly  spite,  and  growing  upon 
one  until  it  looked  several  times  its  actual  size. 
The  ugly  triangle  (which  is  the  distinguishing 
mark  of  all  venomous  snakes,  being  formed  by  the 
poison  gland  back  of  each  eye)  told  me  at  once 
that  Alazan  was  keeping  up  his  reputation  — 
never  did  he  shy  at  a  harmless  snake  —  and  the 
tiny  horns,  which  added  a  peculiar  and  grotesque 
hideousness,  left  no  doubt  that  this  was  a  pichu- 
cuate.  He  had  buried  himself  almost  to  the  head 
in  the  gray  sand,  against  which  his  upper  skin  was 
barely  distinguishable,  and  thus  in  ambush  was 
waiting  for  something  to  turn  up. 

Turning  Alazan  loose,  I  knelt  at  the  safe  dis- 
tance of  a  yard  to  study  the  little  creature,  which 
fairly  swelled  with  murderous  rage.  It  not  only 
struck  madly  at  the  chaparro  switch  I  thrust  out 
to  it,  but  at  last,  evidently  discerning  that  the 
blame  lay  back  of  the  switch,  actually  followed 
it  up,  and  with  such  agility  that  I  had  to  jump  up 
and  back  without  loss  of  time.  The  idea  of  re- 
treat never  seemed  to  enter  that  flat  head.  Some- 
times he  would  lie  and  puff  out  with  impotent  rage, 
throwing  his  mouth  so  wide  open  that  it  seemed 
the  venom  must  start,  and  sometimes  he  glided 
toward  me,  his  head  an  inch  above  the  ground, 
with  an  attitude  which  seemed  to  say,  "  Stand 
still  there,  and  we'll  see  who  laughs  !  " 

At  last  I  killed  him.      He  was  neither  larger 


OUE    WORST  SNAKE  195 

round  nor  longer  than  an  ordinary  lead-pencil ;  a 
cold,  leaden  gray  on  the  back,  but  underneath 
rosy  as  the  mouth  of  a  conch  shell.  The  fangs 
were  tiny,  not  much  more  than  an  eighth  of  an 
inch  long,  and  as  delicate  as  the  tiniest  needle. 
A  wondrous  mechanism,  this  mouth,  with  its  two 
automatic  needles,  so  infinitesimal,  yet  so  perfectly 
competent  !  I  opened  the  ugly  little  jaws  wide, 
pressing  upon  the  sides  of  the  head  ;  and  when 
the  recurving  fangs  had  risen  from  their  grooves 
in  the  roof  of  the  mouth,  and  stood  tense,  a  stream 
so  inconceivably  fine  that  the  eye  could  barely  note 
it  spurted  from  each,  and  in  the  space  of  two  or 
three  inches  melted  into  invisible  spray.  Yet  that 
jet,  finer  than  a  cobweb  strand,  was  enough  to  give 
swift  death  to  the  largest  and  strongest  animal 
that  walks. 

When  the  hunt  was  over,  I  told  my  Indian 
chums  of  the  pichu-cuate,  and  asked  them  many 
questions.  They  all  knew  of  the  snake,  though 
several  had  never  seen  one,  and  all  agreed  that  it 
is  extremely  rare.  The  crotalus  ranks  among  the 
Pueblo  divinities,  and  their  charmers  have  no  dif- 
ficulty with  that  steady-going  and  respectable  rep- 
tile. But  even  among  these  people,  with  whom 
the  cult  of  the  rattlesnake  has  such  astounding 
features,  and  where,  until  recent  years,  every  Pue- 
blo village  kept  a  sacred  rattlesnake  in  a  sacred 
room,  with  special  priests  to  attend  him,  the  vil- 
lainous little  sand  viper  is  accursed.  Even  those 


196  OUR    WORST  SNAKE 

who  have  "  the  power  of  the  snakes  "  can  do  noth- 
ing with  him.  He  scorns  to  be  tamed,  even  by 
the  dropping  upon  his  head  of  the  mystic  pollen 
of  the  corn-blossom. 

And  he  was  more  dangerous  than  the  rattle- 
snake ?  Oh,  yes  !  A  thousand  times  worse  than 
Ch'a-ra-ra-deh  !  No  one  ever  got  well  if  the 
pichu-cuate  bit  him.  Even  a  medicine  man  once, 
who  knew  all  the  sacred  herbs,  and  so  was 
proof  against  snakes,  brought  a  pichu-cuate  in 
his  blanket  to  the  pueblo  to  tame  it.  But  when 
he  let  it  out  upon  the  floor  and  sang  to  it,  and 
went  to  take  it  up,  it  struck  him  in  the  wrist,  and 
he  fell  down  and  died  in  the  time  one  could  count 
fifty.  All  remembered,  too,  the  fate  of  Cruz 
Abeita,  a  young  man  who  had  gone  out  to  the 
llano  to  herd  cattle.  Clearly,  he  had  seen  a  rabbit 
run  down  its  burrow,  and  had  tried  to  get  it  out 
with  a  switch,  for  when  they  found  him  he  was 
lying  there,  terribly  swollen  and  black,  with  his 
arm  still  down  in  the  hole  ;  and  in  his  other  hand, 
clenched  with  the  grip  of  the  dead,  was  a  crushed 
pichu-cuate.  Hidden  in  the  sand,  it  had  struck 
him  in  the  face  while  he  was  reaching  after  the 
rabbit,  and  both  had  died  together.  They  had 
heard  of  other  cases  (and  so  have  I)  of  the  bite  of 
the  American  asp,  and  always  with  fatal  results. 

"  No  !  But  there  was  a  man,  and  he  is  the  only 
one  that  was  ever  struck  by  Pichu-cuate  with- 
out dying,"  said  Francisco.  "  And  he  was  a 


OUR    WOEST  SNAKE  197 

Moqui  that  I  knew.  He  is  of  the  snake-men 
there,  who  make  the  rattlesnake  dance,  so  he  has 
the  power  of  the  snakes.  But  it  was  not  for  this 
that  he  escaped ;  and  though  he  lives,  he  can  no 
longer  weave  —  he  who  was  before  one  of  the  best 
mania  weavers  of  the  People  of  Peace. 

"  He  chanced  to  be  coming  one  day  from  Ohua- 
tu-e,  and,  sitting  down  in  the  desert  to  rest,  put 
his  hand  back,  and  felt  himself  struck  in  the 
knuckles.  Thinking  it  to  be  a  rattlesnake,  he 
rose  and  turned  to  charm  it,  but  when  he  saw  it 
was  Pichu-cuate,  against  which  even  the  mdh-que- 
beh  is  no  remedy,  he  took  his  hunting-knife  like 
lightning  and  chopped  off  his  right  hand  at  the 
wrist,  afterward  killing  the  snake.  And  for  many 
weeks  we  looked  for  him  to  die.  Since  then  he 
can  no  longer  charm  even  the  rattlesnakes,  for 
when  he  sees  any  snake  his  heart  dies  in  him,  and 
the  snake,  beholding  that  he  is  afraid,  will  not 
obey  him,  but  always  fights.  Ay  !  such  is  Pichu- 
cuate  !  Buena  suerte  that  yonder  one  pricked  you 
not ! " 

And  I  heartily  agreed  with  Francisco. 


KELLEY'S   GROUND-SLUICE 


KELLEY'S  GKOUND-SLUICE 


How  the  water  sang  down  through  the  sluice- 
boxes  !  How  it  leaped,  and  rattled  the  pebbles 
against  the  riffles,  and  kicked  the  scurrying  sand 
along,  and  rollicked  and  winked  back  at  the  brill- 
iant New  Mexican  sky,  as  if  it  knew  very  well  the 
golden  secrets  it  was  packing  away  on  the  upper 
ledge  of  each  riffle  —  those  yellow  seeds  of  hap- 
piness or  of  ill  that  it  had  wheedled  from  their 
hiding-places  in  the  gloomy  heart  of  the  earth,  and 
now  brought  tumbling  forth  to  meet  their  long- 
forgotten  sun-brother  !  Truly,  it  was  a  very  rich 
little  brook,  this  which  the  panting  ram  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  great  well  in  the  canon  lifted  to  the  light 
through  the  big  pipes,  and  which  ran  but  a  mile  to 
lose  itself  in  the  thirsty  sands  of  the  Tuerto  arroyo. 
Many  a  mighty  river  scours  the  stingy  soil  for 
thousands  of  miles,  and,  after  all,  pockets  less  of 
that  golden  plaything  which  all  the  world  is  never 
done  with  chasing,  than  had  this  short,  artificial 
rivulet  in  an  arid  land.  And  it  never  seemed  to 
mind  a  bit  that  nearly  all  its  short  life  was  between 
rough,  high  banks  that  would  not  let  it  aside  — 
the  banks  of  the  great  Tuerto  placers  of  auriferous 
201 


202  KELLEY'S  GROUND-SLUICE 

gravel.  Nay,  it  laughed  and  danced  in  the  sun- 
light as  merrily  as  any  unprisoned  brooklet  of 
them  all. 

At  the  upper  end  of  the  quarter-mile  trough  of 
sluice-boxes,  half  a  dozen  shaggy  men  were  work- 
ing at  the  bottom  of  the  deep  ravine.  There  the 
brook  came  tumbling  heels  over  head  down  the 
thirty-foot  bank,  shouting  as  it  fell,  splashing 
the  men  to  their  very  hats  as  they  stood  knee- 
deep  in  the  foaming  current,  gnawing  busily  at 
the  hard-packed  gravel,  washing  clean  the  big 
boulders  which  the  men  pried  out,  and  then  run- 
ning away  down  the  sluices  with  its  precious  find. 
There  was  not  a  lazy  drop  in  it.  From  morning 
to  morning  again,  the  whole  year  through,  it  was 
always  at  work;  and  already,  though  but  two 
years  old,  it  had  eaten  out  such  a  great  mouthful 
of  the  long  gravel  slope  of  the  New  Placers  that 
all  the  way  from  the  Sandias  one  could  see  the 
scar  —  a  wild  gully  more  than  half  a  mile  long, 
and  almost  wide  enough  and  deep  enough  to  have 
swallowed  a  street  of  city  houses.  By  night  and 
on  Sundays  the  brook  had  to  feed  itself,  and  made 
but  a  small  bite  into  that  great  bank  ;  but  at  other 
times  the  men  were  there  to  feed  it  —  with  pick 
and  crowbar  loosening  the  gravel,  and  prying  out 
the  big  rocks,  so  that  by  close  of  day  it  had  eaten 
back  and  back  into  the  hill  so  far  that  a  new 
twelve-foot  sluice  could  be  added  at  the  head 
of  the  old  ones.  That  was  certainly  a  good 


KELLEY' s  GROUND-SLUICE  203 

day's  work  for  a  stream  so  small  that  it  all  ran 
through  a  wooden  trough  only  sixteen  inches  wide 
and  a  foot  deep  —  carrying  off  daily  forty  or  fifty 
tons  of  gravel,  to  scatter  it  miles  down  the  hill ; 
besides  picking  out  from  it,  and  hiding  in  its  own 
pockets,  every  particle  of  gold.  And  when  the 
men  had  gone  away  for  the  night,  the  brook  still 
kept  pushing  the  grumbling  pebbles  down  through 
the  sluice,  and  chewed  away  at  the  bank  as  hard 
as  ever  it  could,  and  chuckled  away  through  the 
dark  hours  over  every  yellow  grain  it  gathered. 

But  to-day  the  brook  had  a  notion  that  all  was 
not  well.  In  the  first  place,  Kelley  was  not  there 
—  huge,  shuffling,  big-hearted  Kelley,  with  whom 
the  brook  felt  a  sort  of  partnership  —  to  watch  the 
men,  and  throw  in  the  daily  charge  of  quicksilver 
which  was  such  a  help  in  arresting  such  of  the 
smallest  golden  truants  as  tried  to  escape  the  riffles. 
And  the  men  were  not  working  very  hard,  but 
half  the  time  left  the  brook  to  feed  itself  while 
they  put  their  mouths  to  each  others'  ears  and  said 
things  which  the  brook  could  hardly  hear  for  its 
own  noise.  They  were  a  new  set,  with  whom  it 
did  not  feel  acquainted.  There  had  been  big 
"  strikes  "  at  the  mines  of  San  Pedro,  and  all  the 
old  "boys"  had  turned  from  Kelley's  wages  to 
look  for  a  fortune  with  one  turn  of  the  pick ;  so 
he  had  to  hire  whom  he  could.  They  were  a 
rough,  hard-looking  crew ;  and  the  brook  did  not 
half  like  their  faces  —  and  still  less  the  scraps  of 


204  KELLEY'S  GBOUND-SLUICE 

their  talk  which  it  caught  now  and  then :  "  —  in 
Santa  Fe  .  .  .  ,  won't  be  back  before  Saturday 
night  .  .  .  lots  of  stuff  .  .  .  knock  off  and  sneak 
a  clean-up  —  he'll  never  know/' 

That  is  what  the  brook  heard  ;  and  what  a  very 
small  and  very  ragged  boy,  who  sat  at  the  edge 
of  the  bank  dabbling  his  bare  feet  in  the  water 
just  where  it  jumped  out  to  the  pit  below,  heard 
also.  The  men  paid  no  attention  to  Vicente  —  he 
was  part  of  Kelley's  ground-sluice.  He  had  been 
there  when  they  came,  and  always  since,  trotting 
at  Kelley's  heels  from  well  to  sluice-box,  or  playing 
with  the  brook,  which  was  a  great  friend  of  his. 
He  had  come  to  regard  the  rito  almost  as  a  person; 
to  talk  to  it  confidentially  in  soft  Spanish,  and  to 
read  its  thoughts  very  much  as  we  have  been  do- 
ing. He  was  always  there  to  watch  the  clean-up 
which  came  every  two  weeks :  when  the  brook 
was  shut  up  awhile  in  its  reservoir,  and  the  rocks 
and  the  pebbles  were  cleaned  out  of  the  sluice- 
boxes,  and  then  the  finer  sand  and  gravel  behind 
hundreds  of  riffles  was  carefully  scraped  out  to  be 
run  through  a  "  rocker  "  and  then  "  panned  "  for  its 
golden  contents  —  and  Vicente  was  never  so 
happy  as  when  he  could  help  at  this.  He  could 
rocker  or  pan  as  well  as  any  of  them,  and  it  was 
such  fun  to  run  down  the  little  yellow  fugitives  in 
that  golden  hide-and-seek  at  the  bottom  of  the 
gold-pan  !  Kelley  always  gave  him  a  little  nugget 
then,  to  carry  home  to  the  little  adobe  cabin  where 


KELLET'S   GROUND-SLUICE  205 

old  Juan  lay  always  groaning  and  the  nana  was 
always  tired  and  pale;  and  once  he  had  given  him 
a  riffle  to  clean  up,  and  keep  all  he  found  behind 
it  —  which  kept  the  poor  cabin  in  flour  and  beans 
for  many  a  grateful  day. 

No,  the  men  did  not  mind  Vicente  ;  they  would 
as  soon  have  thought  of  fearing  his  playmate,  the 
brook.  He  was  too  little  to  notice  them ;  and  if 
he  did  —  bah  !  he  would  never  dare  tell ! 

But  Vicente  did  notice  them ;  and  when  he  had 
heard  so  much  he  pulled  his  feet  out  of  the  brook 
and  was  going  to  run  to  Golden.  But  on  the 
frontier,  wits  grow  sharp  very  early;  and  in  a 
moment  he  put  his  toes  back  in  the  water  and  sat 
thinking  very  hard,  and  with  a  queer  shade  in  his 
dark  young  face. 

"  Then  they  are  to  rob  the  patrrfn,"  he  whispered 
softly  to  the  noisy  brook.  "  Already  it  makes  two 
weeks  since  the  clean-up,  and  there  will  be  three 
or  four  thousand  pesos  [dollars]  of  gold  in  the 
boxes  —  for  so  much  the  patrrfn  always  gets.  But 
what  shall  we  do,  friend  rito  ?  For  if  I  tell  it  in 
Golden,  there  be  some  wickeds  who  would  say  I 
told,  and  then  they  would  kill  me.  And  of  the 
good  there  are  none  at  home.  But  I  cannot  go  to 
warn  the  patrtin,  for  he  is  in  Santa  Fe,  and  comes 
not  until  Saturday,  and  now  we  are  only  at  Thurs- 
day. But  wait  me,  till  I  come  where  it  is  better  to 
speak  to  thee  !  " 

Vicente   slowly   got  up,  whistling   the   merry 


206  KELLEY'S  GROUND-SLUICE 

folk-song  of  "The  Young  Old  Man,"  to  saunter 
leisurely  along  the  bank,  with  a  careless  word  to 
the  men.  He  looked  down  awhile  at  the  sluice- 
boxes  in  the  bottom  of  the  ravine,  and  then  turned 
away  toward  home.  But  as  soon  as  he  was  away 
from  the  edge  of  the  bank,  and  out  of  sight  of  the 
men,  he  turned  toward  the  hill  and  ran  until  he 
came  to  the  reservoir.  There  he  threw  himself 
on  the  ground  beside  the  trench  into  which  the 
brook  was  pouring  from  the  pipe,  and  began 
to  pat  the  hurrying  current  with  a  brown  little 
fist. 

"  Oiga,  friend  brook  !  what  shall  I  do  to  stop 
those  ladronesf  Come,  tell  me,  for  I  know  not. 
There  is  none  to  help  me  but  thou,  for  many  are 
hungry  for  the  gold  of  the  patrtin.  If  only  —  In 
truth  !  Thou  art  the  one  !  Ho\v  shall  they  make 
the  clean-up  without  water  ?  Ai !  So  we  will 
make  them  to  be  laughed  at !  "  And  Vicente  got 
upon  "his  feet  and  danced  and  showed  his  white 
teeth  at  the  brook,  which  smiled  back  at  him  as  it 
hurried  down  to  where  the  men  were. 

They  had  stopped  working  altogether  now, 
though  it  was  not  nearly  night,  and  were  talk- 
ing earnestly.  "We'll  shut  off  the  water  this 
evenin',''  said  a  fellow  with  a  great  knife-scar 
across  his  face,  who  seemed  to  be  the  leader, 
"  an'  clean  up  all  night.  We  can  get  the  dirt  all 
through  the  rockers  by  daylight ;  an'  then  we 
can  pan  out  in  a  couple  o'  hours,  an'  go  to  work 


KELLEY'S  GROUND-SLUICE  207 

sluicin'  again  as  if  nothin'  'd  happened.  But 
won't  the  Ol'  Man  make  a  roar  when  he  takes  a 
clean-up  Monday,  an'  finds  her  short  ?  But  then, 
he  cain't  prove  nothin',  and  we'll  have  the  stuff 
hid  away  where  he  don't  never  find  it.  An'  if  he 
does  make  a  fuss,  it's  easy  to  set  him  quiet ;  "  and 
the  ruffian  significantly  touched  the  heavy  knife 
in  his  belt. 

The  ragged  Mexican  lad  was  still  dancing  be- 
side the  brook  when  he  saw  one  of  the  men  climb- 
ing out  of  the  arroyo  and  coining  toward  him. 
The  fellow  evidently  saw  his  antics,  and  Vicente, 
with  an  affected  unconcern  which  would  have 
tried  an  older  diplomat, '  kept  up  his  jig.  The 
man  passed  him  surlily,  and  shut  down  the  "gate" 
which  let  the  brook  out  from  the  reservoir. 

"Wot  are  yo'  dancin'  for,  yo'  little  beggar?" 
he  asked  gruffly,  as  he  was  going  back  to  the 
sluices.  "  'Pears  like  yo're  mighty  contento  over 
something. " 

"  I  was  dancing  with  the  brook,"  said  the  boy, 
coolly,  "  for  we  are  amigos.  But  now  you  have 
stopped  us." 

"  Wai,"  said  the  man,  "  we're  tired,  V  we  'llow 
to  quit  work  early  to-night.  An'  mind  !  Ef  yo' 
say  anything  to  the  boss,  I'll  throw  yo'  down  the 
well  !  Savvy  ?  " 

When  he  was  gone,  Vicente  sat  down  by  the 
trench  again  to  think  ;  but  the  brook  was  no 
longer  there,  and  the  still  water  in  the  reservoir 


208  KELLEY'S  GROUND-SLUICE 

was  no  company.  Presently  he  arose  and  strolled 
over  the  eastern  ridge  and  down  into  the  mouth 
of  the  canon  to  the  well.  No  one  was  about. 
The  rough  shed  was  very  lonely  and  still,  save  for 
the  low  chug !  chug  !  chug  !  of  the  hydraulic  ram, 
away  down  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth.  Vicente 
sat  down  on  a  boulder  which  was  inside  the  shed, 
and  listened  to  the  slow,  monotonous  pant  of  the 
machine.  To  balk  the  robbers,  there  were  two 
things  he  must  do — empty  the  reservoir,  and  stop 
the  ram.  But  older  heads  might  well  have  hesi- 
tated at  either  undertaking.  To  get  at  the  ma- 
chine he  must  go  down  three  hundred  feet  into 
that  dreadful  well,  darker  than  midnight,  by  a 
slippery,  perpendicular  ladder.  Luckily,  he  knew 
what  to  do  when  he  got  there.  He  had  seen  the 
ram  when  it  came  from  the  far-off  railroad ; 
and  kindly  Kelley,  finding  the  boy  interested  in 
mechanics,  had  taken  the  little  giant  of  an  engine 
to  pieces,  and  put  it  together  again  for  him,  ex- 
plaining all  its  mysteries.  As  to  the  reservoir, 
there  was  a  four-foot  bank  to  dig  through  ;  since 
there  was  no  waste-way,  and  he  dared  not  open 
the  sluice-gate,  for  even  the  brook  could  not  then 
help  hurrying  down  to  tell  the  robbers  what  he 
was  doing.  But  if  he  could  dig  through  the  em- 
bankment on  the  south  side,  the  water  would  run 
off  through  another  arroyo,  and  never  go  near 
them  at  all.  And  if  they  should  happen  to  come 
up  to  the  reservoir  to  turn  their  water  into  the 


KELLEY'S  GROUND-SLUICE  209 

sluices  for  their  rockering  and  panning  before  he 
was  done  —  ? 

Vicente  shivered,  and  went  out  to  look  at  the 
sun.  It  was  almost  down  to  the  dark  whaleback 
of  the  Sandias.  In  half  an  hour  it  would  be  dark 
enough  to  work  at  the  reservoir.  But  first,  the 
ram.  He  set  an  old,  long-handled  miner's  shovel 
against  the  wall  of  the  shed,  where  he  could  find 
it  in  the  dark,  and  went  to  the  edge  of  the  well. 

How  deep  and  black  it  was  !  His  young  knees 
almost  knocked  together,  so  tremulous  were  they. 
But  he  never  thought  of  drawing  back  ;  and  there 
was  no  time  to  lose.  With  a  stifled  gasp,  and  a 
whispered  prayer  to  the  Saint-Mother,  he  grasped 
the  top  round  of  the  ladder,  which  was  level  with 
the  curb,  and  began  to  back  down  cautiously  but 
swiftly.  How  slippery  the  old  rounds  were  ! 
How  dark  and  damp  the  well !  Down,  down, 
down,  with  the  nervous  fingers  clutching  the 
slimy  wood  so  hard  it  numbed  them,  and  chilled 
bare  feet  slipping  and  clinging  to  their  treacher- 
ous hold.  The  darkness  crowded  closer  about  him 
—  the  little  round  light  overhead  grew  smaller 
and  smaller.  The  wrench  he  had  tied  to  his  belt 
bumped  cruelly  against  elbow  and  knee.  Would 
he  never  come  to  the  bottom  ?  He  began  to  fear 
not.  It  seemed  that  his  tired  body  could  hold  on 
no  longer  —  that  he  must  give  up,  after  all,  and 
fall  to  death.  And  then,  as  he  put  down  his  cold 
foot  once  more,  it  touched  colder  water,  and  he 


210  KELLEY'S  GROUND-SLUICE 

drew  back  with  a  shiver.  But  he  would  not  give 
up  now  ;  and  mustering  all  his  courage,  with  a 
long  breath,  he  clung  to  the  lower  round  and  let 
himself  slowly  down  into  the  water.  Was  it  too 
deep  ?  Would  he  drown  there  in  that  awful 
abyss  ?  He  did  not  know.  He  could  not  let  him- 
self much  deeper  into  that  deadly  chill,  which 
was  already  at  his  waist.  But  at  last  he  felt  the 
gravel  with  his  bare  toes  ;  and,  gasping  for  breath, 
let  go  the  ladder,  and  unfastened  the  wrench. 

The  spark  of  daylight  above  now  seemed  no 
bigger  around  than  the  tip  of  his  own  slender 
finger,  and  it  was  fast  growing  dimmer.  It  did 
not  light  up  his  prison  in  the  least,  and  he  was 
in  utter  night.  The  water  was  very  deep  to  work 
in.  He  was  wet  all  through,  and  his  teeth  chat- 
tered with  the  chill ;  but  he  fumbled  away  in  the 
water  with  his  wrench.  There  was  one  nut  off, 
and  then  another  and  another ;  and  at  last,  with  a 
glad  cry,  he  straightened  up.  The  valves  were  in 
his  hand  and  the  pump  had  stopped. 

Tying  the  wrench  to  his  waist  again,  bestowing 
the  disconnected  parts  in  his  tattered  pockets,  he 
found  the  ladder  and  began  the  grim  ascent  to  the 
world.  His  daylight  hole  was  quite  dark  now,  and 
he  had  not  even  that  to  cheer  him.  But  chilled 
and  wet  and  trembling,  he  climbed  on  and  on; 
and  at  last  he  felt  the  dear  fresh  air  again,  and 
stumbled  over  the  coping  into  the  shed. 

For  a   long  time   he   lay  there  shivering  with 


KELLET'S  GEOUND-SLU1CE  211 

cold  but  too  weak  to  get  up.  Surely  he  would 
not  be  able  to  dig  through  that  great  bank  of  the 
reservoir  to-night.  It  would  be  the  work  of  a 
strong  man  for  hours.  Ah !  But  quizd  he  could 
blow  it  up!  He  knew  where  there  were  giant- 
powder  cartridges  and  fuse  in  the  tool-house ; 
and,  born  and  bred  in  a  mining  camp,  he  knew 
how  to  use  them,  for  he  had  seen  nearly  every 
"  shot "  fired  in  Golden  in  the  last  five  years. 

The  thought  gave  him  new  strength.  In  five 
minutes  he  was  stumbling  in  the  dark  toward 
the  reservoir,  carrying  the  deadly  cylinder  in  his 
right  hand,  and  with  a  long  roll  of  fuse  around 
his  neck,  while  in  his  left  hand  he  carried  the 
shovel.  He  dug  a  deep,  round  hole  well  into 
the  bottom  of  the  embankment,  laid  the  cartridge 
gently  therein,  with  the  fuse  attached,  and  then 
filled  the  hole  with  earth,  which  he  tamped  and 
rammed  with  the  shovel -handle.  Then  he  drew 
the  long  fuse  down  a  little  gully,  and  built  a 
ridge  beside  it  where  it  entered  the  ground,  that 
the  robbers  might  not  see  its  fiery  trail  if  they 
came  too  soon.  Drawing  from  his  pocket  old 
Juan's  flint  and  steel,  which  he  always  carried, 
he  found  a  bit  of  dry  cedar-bark  in  place  of  his 
wet  tinder,  struck  a  spark  into  it  and  fanned  it 
with  his  breath  till  it  was  a  spreading  coal,  and 
put  it  to  the  end  of  the  fuse  ;  and  then,  trembling 
more  than  ever,  went  running  over  the  hill  away 
from  the  placers  and  from  Golden. 


212  EELLEY'S   GROUND-SLUICE 

The  six  conspirators,  hard  at  work  on  the  sluice- 
boxes,  had  thrown  out  all  the  rocks  from  the  up- 
per half  —  where  most  of  the  coarse  gold  would 
be  found  —  and  were  scraping  the  sand  from  the 
riffles  into  buckets,  which  they  emptied  into  the 
screens  of  the  rockers.  The  gray  of  dawn  was 
already  spreading  behind  the  Delgado  hill. 

"  Say,  yo'  Pete,"  said  the  leader,  "  go  an'  turn 
on  the  water.  By  the  time  we  kin  git  this  rock- 
ered  out,  it'll  be  light  enough  to  pan,  an'  we've 
got  to  hump,  fur  ef  anybody  shud  light  on  —  " 

Boom!  There  was  a  fearful  roar  that  shook 
the  rocks  from  the  arroyo  banks  rattling  down 
upon  them ;  and,  a  couple  of  seconds  later,  a 
shower  of  fine  earth  fell  from  the  very  sky.  The 
robbers  scrambled  up  the  bank  in  consternation. 

"Et's  from  the  reservoir,"  cried  one,  and  they 
all  ran  thither.  The  tiny  lake  was  empty,  and 
on  the  south  side  was  a  great,  ragged  gap  in  the 
embankment,  below  which  stretched  the  long, 
deep  gully  which  the  water  had  torn  out  in  its 
mad  rush. 

"  Et's  all  up !  "  shouted  the  scar-faced  desperado 
furiously.  "  Somebody's  onto  our  game,  an'  they've 
let  us  out.  No  water  in  three  mile !  An'  the 
wust  is,  the  feller'll  blow  an'  we'll  be  ketched. 
We  got  to  git!  Every  man  fur  himself,  an'  don't 
let  sun-up  find  yo'  in  ten  miles  o'  yere !  " 

Two  days  later  when  Kelley's  buckskin  pony 


KELLEY'S  GROUND-SLUICE  213 

came  loping  with  him  into  Dolores,  there  was 
Vicente,  raggeder  than  ever,  awaiting  him. 

"  What  in  the  world  be  yo'  a-doin'  here,  pard  ?  " 
asked  the  good-natured  giant,  stooping  to  swing 
Vicente  into  the  saddle  in  front  of  him. 

"They  were  to  rob  you,  senor,  but  the  brook 
and  I  would  not  let  them;  "  and  the  boy  told  his 
story  very  simply. 

"  By  the  Big  Nugget!  But  we'll  see  !  Come  on 
—  cain't  leave  yo'  here  nohow.  They  might  find 
yo'."  And  Kelley  struck  spurs  to  the  buckskin, 
and  away  they  went. 

There  was  the  deserted  ground-sluice,  and  the 
broken  reservoir ;  and  from  under  a  sprawling 
cedar  Vicente  dragged  forth  the  parts  he  had 
taken  from  the  ram.  Kelley's  brow  was  very 
black  when  he  saw  the  rockers  full  of  fresh 
gravel  and  half  the  sluice-boxes  stripped ;  but 
when  he  had  looked  at  it  all  in  silence,  he  put  his 
huge  hand  on  the  lad's  head  and  said: 

"By  the  Big  Nugget,  little  pard!  But  yo're 
gold  all  through !  I  tell  yo'  —  I  hain't  got  chick 
nor  child,  and  yo're  folks  hez  more  youngsters  'n 
they  can  feed.  Ef  they'll  say  the  word,  I'll  take 
yo'  for  mine,  and  the  even  half  of  this  clean-up  I'll 
put  in  the  bank  at  Santa  Fe  for  yo'r  own! " 

The  parents  did  "  say  the  word,"  very  gratefully; 
and  I  presume  that  is  the  reason  why  in  his  maturer 
years  Vicente  is  still  generally  know  as  "  Kelley's 
Chick." 


THE   OLD   SHARPE 


THE    OLD    SHAEPE 

THAT  rifle  ?  No,  I  hardly  think  it  would  look 
so  well  in  your  collection  of  firearms  as  it  does  in 
mine.  Yours  is  doubtless  more  extensive,  but 
every  piece  here  has  a  history  —  and  all  personal 
to  me,  except  yonder  wonderful  piece  of  Eibar 
work  of  gold  on  steel.  It  was  made,  as  you  can 
see  by  its  ancient  legend  in  gold,  for  a  descend- 
ant of  the  man  who  discovered  the  Mississippi, 
Hernando  de  Soto.  You  might  as  well  try  to 
buy  it  as  this  modern  arm  you  are  handling. 

What?  You  have  a  -$10,000  collection  of  fire- 
arms and  you  ask  "  what  make  is  this  ?  "  Don't 
you  really  think  a  man  might  get  more  pleasure 
out  of  his  hobby  if  he  had  a  little  more  knowl- 
edge of  it  than  he  can  buy  from  the  curio 
dealers?  That,  sir,  is  the  Sharpe's  "buffalo 
gun."  Twenty  pounds'  weight,  .50  caliber  —  a 
full  half-inch,  you  know,  yet  the  bore  looks  like 
a  pea-shooter  in  that  mass  of  metal.  Shoots  550 
grains  of  lead  and  125  of  powder.  Oh,  "  you've 
heard  of  it  ?  "  I  should  sincerely  hope  you  had. 
It's  a  dozen  years  or  more  since  they  ceased  to 
be  made,  but  even  an  amateur  should  know  the 
217 


218  THE  OLD   SHARPS 

best  hunter's  gnus  that  ever  were  made  —  the 
old  Sharpe  barrels.  And  these  were  the  best  of 
the  Sharpes.  Shoot?  Well,  what  do  you  pre- 
sume a  man  packs  twenty  pounds  of  gun-metal 
over  the  mountains  for? 

Really,  now,  we  dislike  to  be  impolite,  here  on 
the  frontier ;  but  you  will  kindly  not  talk  maga- 
zine gun  in  this  particular  adobe.  Those  reservoir 
pop-guns  are  good  playthings  and  handy  to  carry, 
and  not  bad  when  it  comes  to  an  Apache  rush. 
But  for  real  marksmanship  —  well,  how  do  you 
imagine  you're  going  to  shoot  when  your  gun 
changes  weight  every  time  you  pull  trigger?  Hit 
a  flock  of  barns  flying  low,  very  likely.  But  how 
about  driving  nails  at  one  hundred  yards,  and 
dropping  antelope  at  one  thousand? 

Did  you  ever  figure  out  how  the  hunter's  need 
is  exactly  the  reverse  of  the  soldier's  ?  Hni !  In 
my  small  collecting  I  have  found  the  best  part  of 
it  was  that  it  gave  me  a  chance  to  learn  something 
more  than  price-lists. 

Well,  in  war  the  object  is  not  to  kill,  but  to 
wound.  A  dead  man  is  one  off  the  field ;  a 
wounded  man  is  two  off  —  since  he  has  to  be 
carried  away  and  attended  to.  That  is  why  the 
armies  of  the  world  are  coming  nowadays  to  small 
calibers  (about  .30),  great  penetration,  and  "  clean 
wounds." 

But  the  hunter  wants  to  "kill  dead."  For 
ordinary  game  he  must,  or  lose  the  profit ;  for 


THE  OLD  SHAEPE  219 

extraordinary  game  he  must,  or  lose  his  life. 
He  needs  a  weapon  which  gives  the  greatest 
"surgical  shock."  Only  big  lead  will  do.  I 
have  shot  a  mule  deer  through  the  heart  with  a 
44-70  Winchester,  and  lost  him  in  the  brush.  He 
ran  only  one  hundred  yards ;  but  just  there,  that 
was  far  enough.  But  with  this  old  piece  I'll 
wager  my  head  against  a  split  shell  that  I  can 
hit  a  wild  steer  in  the  hoof,  and  he  will  lie  down 
there  until  I  can  come  and  sit  upon  him.  That's 
the  surgical  shock. 

Eh?  And  pray  why  should  I  not  know  about 
"surgical  shock?"  What  was  your  college? 
Mine  was  Harvard.  "  Doing  out  here  in  the 
wilderness?"  Why,  if  you  must  know  —  liv- 
ing !  Also,  trying  to  get  an  education  —  the 
plains  are  the  last  university,  after  all. 

But  never  mind.  You  never  saw  shooting,  ex- 
cept at  targets  ?  Then  you  cannot  imagine  what 
this  chunk  of  lead,  two  inches  long,  really  means 
when  it  gets  going.  It  is  a  roving  little  buzz-saw, 
which  needs  no  belting.  The  first  time  I  ever 
saw  this  gun  was  a  good  many  years  ago,  up  in 
the  edge  of  Colorado,  when  a  crowd  of  robbers 
tried  to  "  clean  out "  Jack  Frazier.  The  old  man 
took  a  crack  at  them  at  fifteen  hundred  yards  —  and 
I  was  close  to  their  camp.  The  first  ball  struck 
one  of  them  halfway  between  shoulder  and  elbow. 
I  saw  that  arm  drop  to  the  ground  !  Cut  it  off? 
As  if  you  had  taken  a  meat  axe  to  it.  I  have 


220  THE  OLD   SHAEPE 

beheaded  a  coyote  with  it  myself  at  a  thousand 
yards. 

But  that  is  not  why  I  feel  rich  enough  to  afford 
this  rifle  better  than  you  can.  Frazier  and  I  got 
to  be  great  partners  after  that,  and  hunted  and 
trapped  together  three  years,  over  in  the  Tierra 
Amarilla.  It  was  the  last  year  we  were  there 
that  made  me  feel  I  needed  this  particular  gun  in 
my  business ;  and  it  was  a  cinnamon  bear  that 
settled  it. 

Ye — es,  so  they  are.  But  any  hunter  out  here 
can  tell  you  that  the  grizzly  has  to  thank  the 
arm-chair  naturalists  for  part  of  his  reputation. 
He  is  savage  as  any  animal  can  be,  and  at  close 
quarters  as  dangerous.  But  he  is  not  so  large  as 
the  cinnamon,  no  more  ferocious,  and  not  a  tenth 
part  so  knowing.  He  is  merely  a  terrible  brute 
—  and  it  is  a  stupid  man  that  can  be  fooled  by 
him.  But  the  cinnamon  —  why,  he  knows  more 
in  a  minute  than  a  grizzly  will  know  this  side  of 
judgment. 

No,  there  is  no  great  story  to  it.  I  have  seen 
a  dozen  cases  as  convincing.  But  this  special 
case  concerned  me,  you  understand.  Me,  and 
the  gun. 

Certainly,  if  you  wish  it.  Jack  and  I  were  on 
the  Chama  that  spring.  There  were  some  beaver, 
and  plenty  of  everything  else.  We  had  made  a 
pretty  decent  log-cabin,  and  had  the  pelts  up 
in  a  sort  of  loft  in  it,  on  poles.  About  two 


THE  OLD  SHARPS  221 

hundred  beaver-skins  were  up  there  —  "skinned 
round  "  you  know,  and  stretched  on  willow  hoops 
—  and  a  good  stack  of  ermine,  blue  fox,  and  the 
like.  Jack  had  killed  a  mountain  sheep  the  day 
before,  and  the  meat  hung  inside  the  doorway, 
for  which  we  had  no  door  except  a  blanket.  We 
were  just  turning  out,  that  morning.  Jack  was 
blowing  up  the  embers,  and  I  sitting  up  and 
yawning  —  when  the  blanket  suddenly  bellied 
and  a  big,  shaggy  arm  reached  in.  Our  unloaded 
guns  leaned  against  the  wall  —  nearer  to  the  door 
than  to  us.  Jack  went  up  our  crazy  ladder  in 
a  gray  whisk  and  I  wasn't  much  behind  him.  And 
none  too  soon  —  it  was  a  month  before  that  rake 
on  my  heel  was  well  enough  to  be  comfortable. 

It  was  not  just  an  easy  seat  up  there  on  the 
alder  poles ;  but  it  felt  mighty  good  when  we 
looked  down.  Mr.  Bear  gave  the  ladder  a  swipe 
that  smashed  both  uprights,  and  then  reared  his 
best  and  tried  to  brush  us  down.  I  would  say  his 
paw  missed  our  perch  by  about  three  inches  —  we 
had  to  hold  our  feet  out  straight  to  keep  them 
clear  of  him.  Tall?  Well,  you  could  fairly  call 
him  tall.  He  was  the  size  of  a  fat  steer,  and  his 
hide  measured  eleven  feet  and  one  inch  by  the  rule. 

Finding  that  we  roosted  a  little  too  high  for 
him,  he  dropped  on  all  fours  and  began  sniffing 
around  the  room.  He  spluttered  a  good  deal  at 
the  fire,  overturned  the  coffee-pot,  and  then  sud- 
denly noticed  the  meat. 


222  THE  OLD  SHARPS 

"  Dog  your  cats  I  "  growled  Jack,  when  he  saw 
the  fat  quarters  of  wild  mutton  clawed  down. 
"  Yo'  must  reckon  I  dumb  them  three  miles  arter 
thet  yer  bighorn  fur  fun !  Why  don't  yo'  go 
ketch  one  yo'r  own  self,  yo'  ramshackle  thief-in- 
the-night?  Do  I  look  like  I  wuz  contract  huntin' 
to  feed  a  cinnymon  orphan  asylum  ?  " 

It  made  me  angry,  too  —  and  I  was  younger 
than  Frazier.  I  wrenched  a  short  pole  out  of  the 
loft,  leaned  down,  and  gave  bruin  a  stiff  jab  on  the 
ribs.  The  pole  end  was  a  clean  cut  of  the  axe,  and 
therefore  tolerably  sharp.  And  though  it  did  not 
really  scratch  him,  of  course,  the  hint  was  pointed 
enough  to  be  irritating.  He  gave  a  great  snort 
and  whopped  the  pole  out  of  my  hands  with  so 
swift  and  resistless  a  cuff  that  I  very  nearly  fol- 
lowed it.  Jack  caught  me  back  just  in  time  to 
get  my  swinging  head  up  before  the  bear  was  up 
and  trying  to  reach  us  again. 

Any  one  would  have  been  mad  by  then,  and 
maybe  I've  a  little  more  hair-trigger  in  my  tem- 
per than  the  law  requires.  I  drew  my  hunting- 
knife,  leaned  forward,  and  fetched  the  enemy  one 
across  the  nose.  Just  the  point  reached,  and  it 
only  severed  a  nostril  for  him. 

"  Yo'  free-milling  ijjit !  "  cried  Jack,  catching 
me  by  the  arm.  "  Don't  yo'  know  enough  to  fall 
off  the  back  end  of  a  pack-mule  ?  He  ain't  never 
goin'  to  forgive  yo'  for  thet.  Ef  he  don't  play 
quits,  yo'  can  call  me  a  coffee-cooler  I  Ef  he  wuz 


THE  OLD   SHARPE  223 

a  grizzly,  now,  he'd  just  try  to  rip  the  cabin  down, 
and  when  he  found  he  couldn't  he'd  quit.  But 
cinnymon  —  youngster,  yo're  shore  goin'  to  reckon 
for  this." 

The  bear  ramped  up  and  down  and  slammed  the 
guns  around  and  cuffed  the  fireplace  empty  and 
made  rags  of  the  beds  and  the  door-blanket.  Then 
he  bolted  out  on  a  sudden,  never  stopping  at  the 
meat  even  long  enough  to  say  "  this  mouth  is 
mine."  I  started  to  jump  down  and  grab  my  gun, 
but  Jack  snapped  : 

"  Hold  yo'r  bosses  !  Yo'  cain't  seem  to  get  yo'r 
mind  sot  thet  this  yer's  a  cinnymon  !  They're 
plumb  ba-ad !  " 

"  Don't  be  a  granny  !  "  I  retorted.  "  Let  me 
get  that  gun  once,  and  if  he's  a  whole  South  Park 
of  cinnamons  he's  welcome !  "  and  I  ducked  over 
the  poles  we  sat  on  before  Jack  could  stop  me. 
But  ere  my  legs  were  fairly  a-swing,  there  was  a 
scuffle  and  rush.  Luckily  my  arms  were  still  so 
far  bent  as  to  have  their  best  spring.  I  caught 
up  the  downward  motion,  did  a  short-arm  swing 
up  over  the  "  bar,"  and  lay  there  on  my  stomach 
across  the  pole,  looking  down  almost  nose-to-nose 
with  the  bear. 

Well,  it  was  high  noon  before  the  brute  was  so 
certainly  gone  that  we  ventured  down  from  our 
cramped  perch.  We  snatched  up  our  guns,  and 
each  threw  in  a  cartridge.  We  sneaked  to  the 
door.  No  sound.  We  sneaked  out.  Nothing  in 


224  THE  OLD   SHARPE 

sight  but  an  impudent  magpie  that  cocked  his 
head  at  us.  The  ground  was  still  wet  from  a 
light  snow  ;  and  from  the  maze  of  tracks  around 
the  door  we  saw  a  trail  leading  off  down  the 
hill.  Each  footprint  was  longer  than  my  foot 
and  twice  as  wide  —  and  mine  are  not  exactly 
lady's  feet. 

"  I  like  a  fool !  "  grumbled  Frazier,  looking  at 
the  cabin,  "but  our  years  [ears]  are  sort  o'  over 
long.  I'd  druther  the'  wuz  a  door  to  this  yer 
shack." 

"  Door  nothing  !  "  said  I,  crossly.  "  When  I 
get  back,  we  won't  need  any  door  for  that  beast 
of  Bashan !  " 

Jack  glowered  at  me  under  his  shaggy  brows. 

"  Et  ain't  no  skin  off'n  my  shins,"  he  said  slowly, 
"  but  I  wisht  yo'  'd  not  f oiler  him.  He'll  shore 
bushwhack  yo'." 

But  I  was  keen  for  the  marauder's  scalp,  and  off 
I  went,  while  Jack  shouldered  "  Old  Buff "  and 
started  away  to  the  beaver  traps. 

The  tracks  led  off  to  the  southeast,  toward  a 
pinon-furred  hill.  I  noted  that  they  did  not  loiter, 
as  I  expected  —  bruin  had  gone  straight  and  rather 
swiftly,  as  if  on  an  errand.  I  trailed  him  over  the 
swales  three  or  four  miles  —  in  fact,  clear  around 
the  end  of  the  hill.  Now  the  tracks  made  off 
northwest  again.  Curious  !  Only  once  or  twice 
had  he  stopped  at  all,  and  then  only  as  if  to  think 
—  for  he  had  not  stepped  aside  from  his  course. 


THE  OLD  SHARPS  225 

My  perplexity  grew;  and  when,  from  the  last 
ridge,  the  trail  led  straight  down  to  the  cabin,  a 
little  uneasiness  came  over  me.  It  was  uncanny 
for  the  brute  to  have  come  back  so  —  never  had  I 
known  a  bear  to  do  such  a  thing.  And  Frazier's 
warning  about  the  vindictiveness  of  a  cinnamon 
began  to  seem  more  real. 

No,  the  bear  was  not  in  the  cabin  when  I  stole 
down  with  rifle  at  a  ready.  But  he  had  been 
there.  The  beds  were  absolutely  shredded  to 
pieces,  the  coffee-pot  and  frying-pan  battered  out 
of  recognition;  our  crude,  massive  table  of  hewn 
logs  was  simply  smashed.  What  a  grudge  the 
monster  had  brought  with  him  !  That  rnute  evi- 
dence of  his  vindictiveness  and  his  power  really 
awed  me  more  than  his  most  furious  presence 
could  have  done. 

But  in  the  absence  of  the  chief  objects  of  his 
spite  he  had  not  stayed  long ;  and  there  were  his 
tracks  leading  off  down  the  hill  southwestwardly 
to  where  the  rains  had  gullied  back  into  the 
slope.  Down  into  the  wash  the  trail  plumped; 
and  down  I  went  on  it. 

For  several  hundred  yards  the  ravine  ran  in 
plain  sight  from  the  cabin,  always  growing  deeper. 
Where  it  turned  toward  the  western  hills,  it  was, 
maybe,  fifteen  feet  deep,  and  still  so  narrow  that 
a  first-class  jumper  might  have  cleared  it.  The 
trail  was  so  clear  any  one  might  have  followed 
it  by  night ;  not  exactly  footprints,  of  course,  on 

Q 


226  THE  OLD  SHAEPE 

the  damp  sand,  but  where  those  great  feet  had 
patted  was  sign  enough. 

"  Wonder  if  he  holes-up  in  the  caiion  ?  "  I  was 
thinking.  The  "  draw "  led  to  a  deep,  wild  gorge 
so  choked  with  brush  that  we  had  never  explored 
it. 

Just  then  I  heard  a  faint,  faint  whisper.  You 
would  not  have  heard  it  —  neither  would  I,  be- 
fore my  ear  took  a  post-graduate  course  and 
learned  to  know  when  a  caterpillar  crossed  dry 
leaves  within  a  rod.  I  wheeled  instantly,  for  a 
creepy  feeling  came  in  me  at  that  vague  breath. 
Ah,  it  was  merely  a  handful  of  sand  slipping 
down  the  north  bank  —  but  at  the  top  of  the 
sand  was  a  great  yellow-brown  paw,  and  above 
that  a  vast  head  peering  around  a  greasewood. 
I  noticed  in  that  swift,  photographic  flash  that 
the  beast  was  lying  flat,  and  also  saw  a  thick 
red  clot  pendant  on  the  gray  muzzle. 

He  saw  he  was  seen,  and  with  no  more  attempt 
at  concealment  plunged  down  the  bank  like  an 
avalanche.  Clumsy  ?  Yes,  a  bear  is  the  clumsiest 
wild  animal  in  North  America.  He  moves  rather 
as  if  he  had  no  bones.  But  do  not  deceive  your- 
self with  thinking  it  takes  him  long  to  be  clumsy. 
Before  I  could  jerk  the  rifle  to  my  shoulder  he  had 
ploughed  down  the  steep  bank,  heels  over  head,  I 
should  say,  found  his  feet,  and  started  for  me  at  five 
yards  away. 

A  rifle  in  hand  I  count  just  as  good  as  a  stone 


THE  OLD  SHARPS  227 

wall  between  us  if  the  father  of  all  bears  were 
after  me  ;  and  I  waited.  At  two  yards  he  half 
reared,  to  get  in  boxing  attitude ;  for  a  bear  always 
cuffs  if  he  can.  His  broad  throat  was  in  sight 
at  last  and  the  ivory  "  bead  "  drawn  squarely  on 
its  centre,  when  I  pulled  the  trigger.  But  there 
was  no  report  —  and  all  the  confidence  of  habit  fell 
off  me  like  a  husk.  For  the  first  time  in  my  life 
I  was  a  whole  coward.  Not  that  I  am  brave  any- 
how, but  custom  serves  very  well  for  courage.  But 
now  I  felt  suddenly  faint,  and  the  ebbing  blood 
began  to  tingle  in  my  scalp.  The  brute  seemed 
to  me  to  understand  and  to  grin  a  ghastly  grin  as 
he  shuffled  nearer.  Then  the  blood  and  anger 
leaped  up  in  my  veins  again  and  I  went  from  cow- 
ard to  maniac.  Swinging  the  heavy  rifle  above 
my  head,  I  dashed  it  in  his  face  with  a  wild 
"  N-r-r-r !  "  of  rage.  It  smote  him  squarely 
upon  the  muzzle  and  he  fairly  shrieked  and  stag- 
gered with  pain,  and  leaped  forward  and  reared  a 
head  above  me,  and  I  saw  the  flexion  of  that  huge 
forearm  as  it  drew  back  for  the  blow. 

Then  there  was  a  far  yell  —  oh,  how  far  and 
unreal  it  seemed!  Away  up  at  the  bend  I  saw 
something  that  ran  and  stopped  and  flung  towards 
us  a  little  puff  of  white  ;  and  there  was  the  blessed 
boo-oor-r-r  that  nothing  but  a  "  Sharpe's  buffalo  " 
ever  made  ;  and  a  curious  tap  as  upon  a  wet  drum. 
I  have  asked  a  hundred  men,  who  know  the  taste 
of  a  bullet,  if  they  heard  it  strike ;  and  all  say  they 


228  THE  OLD  SHAEPE 

don't  remember,  except  one,  and  he  declares  a  spent 
ball  struck  his  thigh  once  and  he  heard  it  strike, 
/have,  at  any  rate  —  a  small  ball  on  my  ribs  ;  and 
the  sound  at  first  was  the  only  way  I  knew  I  was 
hurt. 

But  this  time  the  pat  was  not  on  me.  A  great 
jet  of  something  dark  and  warm  spurted  out  as  if 
from  a  hydrant,  and  drenched  and  blinded  me.  I 
staggered  and  fell  forward  —  not  upon  the  ground, 
but  across  a  great  furry  mound  that  heaved  feebly 
a  few  times  and  was  still. 

Eh  ?  Why,  simply  this.  Frazier  got  back  from 
his  traps,  found  the  bear  had  been  to  the  cabin  and 
gone,  and  that  I  was  still  on  the  trail,  and  like  the 
clear-headed  woodsman  he  was,  had  concluded  that 
he  had  better  take  the  road  too. 

The  bear  had  set  me  a  nice  trail  down  the  ra- 
vine for  half  a  mile.  Then  he  had  clambered  out, 
sneaked  back  a  short  distance,  and  set  his  am- 
bush at  the  top  of  the  bank.  His  ruse  had  suc- 
ceeded perfectly.  Even  if  my  rifle  had  not  failed 
(we  found  the  firing-pin  sprung  by  his  rough  treat- 
ment of  it  in  the  cabin),  he  would  undoubtedly 
have  killed  me  before  dying  himself. 

When  I  was  a  little  "  freshed  up,"  we  paced 
from  the  body  to  the  marks  where  Frazier  had 
dropped  to  one  knee  and  fired.  Four  hundred 
yards.  He  had  made  the  one  possible  shot  that 
could  do  me  any  good.  That  whirling  mass  of 
lead  had  struck  the  bear's  neck  a  little  "  quarter- 


SWINGING    THE    HEAVY    RIFLE    ABOVE    MY    HEAD,  I    DASHED    IT    IN    HIS    FACE 


THE  OLD  SHAEPE  229 

ing,"  severed  the  spine  and  jugular  and  tunnelled 
a  hole  through  which  I  could  thrust  my  arm.  No 
other  rifle  could  have  done  it  —  twenty  Winchester 
bullets  would  not  have  stopped  him  from  me.  And 
though  I  have  known  nearly  all  the  crack  shots  of 
the  Southwest,  I  do  not  believe  any  other  man  than 
Jack  Frazier  could  have  done  it. 

Perhaps  you  understand  now  why  you  really 
could  not  afford  a  buffalo  gun  for  your  collection 
just  at  present.  This  was  the  only  sweetheart 
poor  old  Frazier  ever  had,  and  when  he  was 
dying  by  a  treacherous  stab  up  at  Alamosa,  they 
tell  me  the  last  words  he  said  were : 

"  Give  her  to  the  Youngster,  and  tell  him  to 
keer  for  her  like  he  loved  her." 


MY  FRIEND  WILL 


MY  FEIEND  WILL 

"  UGH  !  "  cried  Dick ;  "  isn't  it  horrible  to  see  a 
man  in  that  condition  ?  I  should  think  he'd  want 
to  die  !  What  is  he  good  for?  " 

The  gentleman  who  hobbled  past  was  not  a 
pleasant  sight,  truly.  Paralysis  had  smitten  down 
one  of  his  arms,  and  weighed  upon  a  side  of  his 
face,  and  he  moved  very  unsteadily  on  his  crutch. 
But  to  me  he  was  not  horrible,  and  I  answered 
the  last  question  only  with  : 

"  Well,  that  depends  on  what  he  thinks  he  is 
good  for." 

But  it  set  me  to  thinking,  for  tall  and  handsome 
Dick  was  not  the  only  one  I  had  found  with  such 
heresy  in  him.  So  few  of  us  ever  find  out  what 
we  really  are  "good  for."  And  the  outcome  of 
my  thinking  was  that  perhaps  I  might  just  as 
well  tell  you  the  true  story  of  my  friend  Will  — 
or  at  least  the  outline  of  a  few  years  of  his  varie- 
gated life.  His  experience  has  taught  me  more 
than  all  the  books  I  ever  read ;  and  perhaps  there 
are  others  who  can  learn  a  little  from  it,  too. 

To  begin  with,  he  was  the  hardest-headed  fel- 


234  MY  FRIEND   WILL 

low  you  ever  saw  ;  maybe  "  mulish "  would  not 
be  too  harsh  a  word.  The  trait  brought  him  no 
end  of  troubles,  though  it  is  only  fair  to  add  that 
it  generally  got  him  out  of  them,  too.  His  bull- 
dog persistence  in  having  his  own  way  used  some- 
times to  make  me  laugh;  but  he  was  so  dead  in 
earnest  about  everything  that  it  was  impossible  to 
laugh  at  him  for  long. 

You  see,  I  knew  him  better  than  any  one  else 
did ;  and,  while  our  intimacy  made  it  impossible 
that  I  should  not  realize  his  faults,  I  was  inclined 
to  be  charitable  to  them,  and  perhaps  also  to  over- 
estimate his  virtues  somewhat. 

This  great  obstinacy  of  his  was  the  first  ele- 
ment in  the  curious  true  story  I  shall  try  to  tell 
you ;  and  a  second  was  his  physique,  which  was  as 
hard  as  his  head.  He  was  hardly  five  feet  seven 
inches,  but  sinewy  and  agile  as  a  panther,  and  of 
really  extraordinary  strength.  All  over  his  body 
the  knots  and  strands  of  muscle  stood  out  like 
whipcords.  He  never  bragged  of  this ;  but  he 
knew  his  strength,  and  was  proud  of  it,  and 
gloried  in  it. 

Of  all  the  people  I  have  ever  known,  no  other 
got  so  much  comfort  and  quiet  joy  out  of  the 
possession  of  a  perfect  body  that  answered  every 
call  upon  it.  It  had  been  sorely  tried,  too,  in 
hardships  and  dangers  that  never  come  near  the 
average  life,  and  it  had  never  failed  him.  More 
than  once  —  aye,  more  than  a  score  of  times  —  it 


MY  FRIEND   WILL  235 

had  wrenched  him  loose  from  the  very  clutch  of 
death.  So  it  is  not  surprising  that  he  had  come 
to  look  upon  it  with  unlimited  confidence.  The 
vanity  of  a  woman's  beauty  is  as  nothing  com- 
pared to  the  vanity  of  a  man's  strength. 

At  the  time  when  the  story  begins,  the  obsti- 
nacy and  the  strength  had  an  ample  field.  My 
friend  was  then  twenty-eight  years  old,  in  the 
very  perfection  of  health  and  vigor.  He  had 
bought  an  interest  in  a  young  daily  newspaper. 
The  small  city  in  California  where  it  was  pub- 
lished was  just  beginning  to  "boom."  Immigra- 
tion from  the  East  had  barely  started  in  that 
wonderful  tide  which  swelled  the  population  of 
that  town  from  twelve  thousand  to  fifty  thousand 
in  five  years,  and  worked  almost  equal  miracles  in 
all  southern  California. 

With  his  partners,  Will  had  a  double  ambition 
—  to  upbuild  the  town  and  the  paper  in  the  right 
way.  It  was  still  rather  a  frontier  city,  and  al- 
most entirely  in  the  hands  of  the  rougher  element. 
The  saloons  and  gambling-houses  had  everything 
their  own  way,  and  were  so  powerful  that  it  was 
deemed  hopeless  to  oppose  them. 

My  friend's  daily  pitched  in  by  itself  to  fight 
for  a  new  order  of  things,  and  waged  a  relentless 
war  on  lawlessness  and  wrong.  It  was  an  un- 
pleasant as  well  as  an  arduous  three  years,  for 
the  conflict  was  unremitting  and  to  the  knife. 
The  lawless,  so  long  in  power,  had  no  notion  of 


236  MY  FRIEND    WILL 

yielding,  and  spared  no  pains  to  retaliate  directly 
upon  the  editors. 

But  the  paper,  besides  being  right,  had  more 
"  bull-dog  "  than  its  adversaries  ;  and  municipal 
and  state  election  after  election  scored  invariably 
a  new  victory  for  the  law  and  order  party.  Step 
by  hard-fought  step  the  gambling-houses  were 
closed,  the  saloons  repressed  and  restrained,  the 
most  dangerous  dives  shut  up,  and,  in  a  word,  the 
swift-growing  city  became  noted  far  and  wide  for 
its  good  government. 

Of  course,  only  an  infinitesimal  part  of  this  was 
my  friend's  doing  ;  the  votes  that  made  such  a 
striking  change  were  those  of  the  sober,  intelli- 
gent people  who  had  been  coming  in  to  settle. 
But  it  is  probably  fair  to  say  that  without  a  fear- 
less newspaper  to  lead  off,  the  reforms  could  not 
have  been  accomplished  so  soon ;  and  certainly 
none  of  the  voters  had  to  do  with  the  threats, 
persecutions,  and  assaults,  which  were  the  con- 
stant share  of  the  editors  of  the  only  paper  which 
cared  to  raise  its  voice. 

This  apparent  straying  from  the  story  may  give 
you  to  understand  how  a  hard-headed  young  man 
with  all  his  impulses  in  favor  of  decency  —  and 
maybe  a  little  fondness  for  fighting  in  a  good 
cause  —  would  here  become  so  interested  as  to 
make  violent  efforts.  The  paper,  too,  was  push- 
ing ahead ;  its  circulation  swelled  and  its  influ- 
ence grew  stronger  daily,  since  people  found  that 


MY  FRIEND   WILL  237 

though  it  might  be  mistaken,  it  was  never  dis- 
honest nor  cowardly. 

For  his  share  of  these  results  Will  had  worked 
like  a  Berserker.  To  him  there  was  no  day  of 
rest  in  the  year,  and  four  hours,  at  most,  in  the 
twenty-four.  He  was  up  early,  working  at  top 
tension  all  day  long,  and  nearly  all  through  the 
night.  The  last  form  had  always  gone  down 
stairs  and  the  presses  were  roaring,  before  he 
thought  of  leaving  the  office.  He  not  only  did 
not  ask,  but  would  not  allow,  any  of  his  reporters 
to  work  one-half  so  hard.  For  months  at  a  stretch 
I  have  known  him  to  work  twenty-two  hours  a 
day. 

"  What  a  fool !  "  you  will  say,  and  quite  rightly. 

But  it  did  not  seem  so  to  him.  He  was  not 
slaving  for  money  —  a  thing  he  never  greatly 
worshipped  —  but  working  for  love  of  his  work. 
And  you  must  remember,  too,  that  with  such  a 
constitution  he  could  do  it !  He  was  never  tired 
—  never !  The  months  and  the  years  did  not 
abate  his  energy,  but  rather  seemed  to  add  to  it. 
Other  people  broke  down,  but  he  — 

Three  years  went  by.  The  paper  was  so  far  in 
the  lead  that  one  of  its  presses  alone  would  have 
bought  out  the  whole  establishment  of  either  of 
its  former  rivals. 

Now  my  friend  had  a  curious  hint.  His  left 
forefinger  "went  to  sleep"  (as  one's  foot  does) 
and  stayed  so  for  a  week.  Then  his  legs,  then 


238  JfF  FRIEND    WILL 

his  head,  then  his  trunk,  began  to  have  the  same 
odd  tingling  numbness.  But  he  took  it  rather  as 
a  poor  practical  joke  on  him  than  as  a  matter  to 
think  over. 

Warnings  had  been  showered  on  him  for  years 
by  his  friends,  by  his  many  acquaintances  among 
the  doctors,  but  one  might  just  as  well  have  talked 
to  a  steel  spring.  He  would  laugh  with  good- 
natured  tolerance,  and  say :  "  Oh,  yes,  I  know ; 
but  there  are  exceptions  to  every  rule,  and  a  con- 
stitution like  mine  thrives  on  it.  I've  been  at  it 
all  these  years,  and  never  felt  better  in  my  life." 
Then  his  chest  would  take  its  four-and-a-half  inch 
expansion,  as  if  to  prove  his  words.  Even  now, 
when  the  telegraph  editor  said  to  him  one  night, 
apropos  of  the  "  sleepy  "  finger  :  "  Mr.  Will,  if  you 
don't  let  up,  you  are  going  to  be  paralyzed  ! "  my 
friend  looked  at  him  in  unfeigned  admiration. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  Bates,"  he  cried  im- 
petuously, knotting  his  left  arm  till  the  biceps 
actually  split  the  sleeve,  "  you  mean  to  say  that 
when  I  tell  this  arm  to  do  so  and  so  it  will  disobey 
me  ?  By  heaven,  I  would  like  to  see  it !  "  And 
there  was  a  glare  in  his  eyes  as  if  he  would  make 
short  work  with  such  unheard-of  mutiny. 

A  week  later  he  did  see  it. 

That  strange  numbness  kept  coming,  at  times 
creeping  so  close  about  the  heart  that  the  strong 
thumps  seemed  like  to  cease ;  but  he  felt  perfectly 
well  that  evening,  as  he  drew  up  to  his  own  fire- 


MY  FRIEND   WILL  239 

side  for  a  moment  after  supper  —  and  suddenly 
toppled  to  the  floor.  The  next  thing  he  knew  he 
was  lying  on  the  sofa,  and  a  tearful  face  bent  over 
him. 

"  Take  it  off  me! "  he  gasped,  for  he  seemed  to 
be  held  down  by  a  weight  of  tons. 

There  was  only  a  sad  shake  of  the  head  for 
answer. 

"But  I  will  get  up!  "  he  cried,  the  old  comba- 
tiveness  coming  back  to  the  dazed  brain. 

"  Don't!  "  begged  the  watcher ;  but  he  began  to 
heave  and  strain  till  the  big  veins  knotted  in  his 
forehead  and  throat  and  every  muscle  was  rigid 
as  steel. 

He  had  wrestled  with  the  strongest  men,  he 
had  fought  with  main  strength  for  his  life,  but 
never  before  with  so  desperate  an  effort  as  now  to 
throw  off  a  weight  no  one  else  could  see. 

After  twenty  minutes'  struggle  he  did  get  up, 
weak  and  trembling,  but  victorious. 

In  a  few  moments  his  exultation  fell  at  a 
terrible  discovery.  His  left  arm  had  mutinied. 
Struggle  as  he  would  he  could  not  move  a  muscle 
of  it. 

I  leave  it  to  you,  with  what  you  know  of  him, 
whether  it  was  a  blow  to  this  young  athlete  to 
find  himself  —  paralyzed!  The  perfect  body  now 
a  wreck,  the  perfect  health  a  broken  dream,  and 
he  a  thing  for  people  to  point  at  pityingly. 

But  no  one  ever  knew  from  him  what  he  did 


240  MY  FEIEND    WILL 

feel.  Even  to  me,  his  best  friend,  he  said  only, 
"Ah,  old  boy,  tough  luck;  no?"  That  first 
glimpse  I  got  of  his  face  he  was  very  pale,  but 
his  lips  were  set,  and  there  was  more  token  of 
fire  than  water  in  his  eyes. 

"Do!  I'll  go  to  the  wilderness  and  live  out- 
doors till  I'm  well,"  he  said;  and  off  he  packed 
to  New  Mexico,  though  barely  able  to  waddle. 
"  Medicine  ?  No,  indeed !  My  constitution  is 
doctor  enough,  if  it  has  half  a  chance,  and  I'll 
try  to  give  it  that  now." 

From  first  to  last  he  refused  all  doses  and  treat- 
ment, which  indicates  that,  despite  that  disaster 
in  the  brain,  the  skull  retained  most  of  its  hard- 
ness. 

Some  very  lovely  Spanish  people  in  the  terri- 
tory had  been  his  friends  for  years,  and  now  they 
gladly  welcomed  him  to  their  hacienda,  a  day's 
ride  from  the  railroad.  They  would  have  put 
him  to  bed  and  nursed  him,  for  he  could  scarcely 
walk,  and  his  speech  was  more  or  less  affected ; 
but  that  was  not  his  notion  of  the  necessary 
treatment.  "  In  bed,"  he  has  told  me  since,  "  I 
couldn't  have  got  away  from  myself,  and  that  is 
\vhat  I  had  to  do,  or  go  crazy." 

Every  morning  he  sallied  out  into  the  sage- 
brush to  escape  himself  with  hunting.  I  fear  it 
was  a  rather  ludicrous  sight,  this  tottering,  wab- 
bly Nimrod,  clumsily  wielding  the  gun  with  one 
hand,  and  missing  far  more  rabbits  than  he  killed, 


NT  FRIEND   WILL  241 

and  often  dropping  under  a  bush  in  sheer  exhaus- 
tion. But  no  one  laughed  at  it,  except  himself; 
indeed,  I  have  seen  friendly  eyes  turn  misty  on  a 
sudden,  when  he  "  guyed  "  himself  about  it. 

As  the  weeks  went  on,  he  got  further  and  further 
from  the  house  ;  at  first  a  few  hundred  yards  wore 
him  out.  Juan  Rey  and  the  other  boys  had  more 
and  more  jack-rabbits  and  cottontails  to  dress ; 
Will  was  getting  steadier  on  his  legs,  and  already 
could  use  the  light  shot-gun  skilfully  with  his  one 
hand.  He  carried  it  on  his  shoulder,  grasping  it 
at  the  guard  and  "  throwing  down,"  just  as  one 
would  a  six-shooter. 

His  natural  amusement  would  have  been  writ- 
ing, but  now  that  was  out  of  the  question ;  for  on 
the  top  of  his  brain  there  seemed  to  be  an  actual 
iron  floor,  against  which  his  thoughts  bumped 
their  heads  in  vain.  Sometimes  it  lifted  a  bit, 
then  it  would  sink,  lower  and  heavier,  till  it  seemed 
about  to  crush  out  his  very  life. 

So  the  evenings  he  passed  with  the  family,  play- 
ing quaint  Spanish  games,  learning  sweet  Spanish 
songs  —  and  something  of  the  Spanish  heart  which 
he  will  never  forget.  If  misfortune  had  taught 
him  but  that  one  lesson  of  the  brotherhood  of  man, 
I  am  not  sure  it  would  not  have  been  worth  while  ; 
for  I  must  say  of  my  friend  that  before  this  he  had 
been  very  ignorant  and  bigoted  in  such  things. 

With  March  came  "  lambing-time,"  and  Will 
went  up  to  the  sheep-camps  and  lived  that  hard 


242  MY  FRIEND    WILL 

life  for  months,  keeping  the  shepherds  in  meat 
with  his  gun,  and,  at  a  pinch,  working  as  hard  as 
any  of  them.  Sometimes  after  chasing  a  perverse 
lamb  he  would  fall  down,  so  weak  was  he,  and  lie 
several  minutes  before  he  had  strength  to  rise ; 
but  then  he  would  up  again  and  at  it. 

One  day  it  became  necessary  to  send  a  wagon 
fifty  miles  to  the  interior,  and  there  was  no  one 
who  could  be  spared  to  take  it.  Don  Amado  was 
in  a  quandary. 

"  Let  me  go,"  said  Will. 

"  You  !  "  cried  Don  Amado,  in  horror.  "  Do 
you  take  me  for  a  murderer  ?  What  could  you  do?  " 

"  I  could  try,"  was  Will's  answer,  and  he  seemed 
really  glad  to  be  allowed,  after  long  refusal,  the 
dubious  privilege. 

He  scrambled  to  the  high  seat,  tied  the  reins  at 
the  back  of  his  neck  —  so  that  he  could  guide  the 
horses  by  a  tug  on  either  line  —  shook  off  the 
brake,  and  sent  the  broncos  flying  down  the  hill. 

I  fancy  Will  had  some  doubts  about  the  out- 
come himself,  but  he  didn't  "let  on." 

He  steered  the  shaky  vehicle  and  its  wild  span 
over  the  rocky  trail,  crossed  a  very  dangerous  and 
difficult  arroyo,  and,  after  many  troubles,  finally 
reached  Acebache. 

Next  day  he  had  to  start  back,  bringing  six 
hundred  pounds  of  corn  and  the  meat  of  a  steer, 
which  he  bad  assisted  to  round  up  in  the  moun- 
tains and  dress. 


MY  FRIEND   WILL  243 

In  the  bad  arroyo  the  wagon  stuck,  and  the 
water  was  rising.  So  the  one-armed  Jehu  had 
to  drag  to  the  bank,  with  his  right  hand  and 
teeth,  the  three  two-hundred-pound  sacks  of  corn 
and  the  ponderous  quarters  of  beef  —  and  he  did 
it.  Then,  with  his  bowie-knife,  he  dug  away  the 
bank  until  the  tired  horses  could  pull  the  wagon 
out  to  safety.  Then  he  reloaded  his  cargo,  and, 
at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  came  clattering 
in  triumph  up  to  the  camp  at  San  Miguel. 

The  superstitious  shepherds  began  to  look  upon 
him  as  a  wizard,  but  my  friend  found  in  these 
successes  food  for  something  deeper  than  vanity. 
He  was  learning  a  vital  lesson  —  that  he  was  still 
good  for  something  after  all.  If  he  could  do  this, 
then  something  else ;  and  he  began  to  find  a  keen 
delight  in  overcoming  the  obstacles  that  naturally 
beset  a  cripple. 

One  very  trifling  conquest,  just  now,  seemed  to 
give  him  a  disproportionate  encouragement  and 
buoyancy.  He  was  a  sad  smoker,  and,  in  the 
wilderness,  had  no  recourse  except  the  little 
brown-paper  cigarettes  of  the  Mexicans.  At  first 
the  boys  rolled  them  for  him,  but  one  day  he  cried, 
"  No,  if  I  can't  smoke  without  help  I  won't  smoke 
at  all !  " 

Then  he  looked  sorry  he  had  said  it,  for  he  was 
a  fellow  of  his  word,  and  every  one  needed  two 
hands  for  the  cigarette-making.  Rather  anx- 
iously he  took  a  paper  and  a  pinch  of  granulated 


244  NT  FRIEND   WILL 

tobacco.  Hm  !  Not  so  impossible  after  all ;  for, 
twisting  partly  with  his  right  thumb  and  fore- 
finger and  partly  with  his  lips,  lo  !  he  had  a  rude 
but  smokable  roll.  In  a  little  while  he  grew  ex- 
pert at  it,  and  for  years  was  known  all  over  the 
Southwest  as  "the  Americano  that  rolls  cigarros 
with  one  hand." 

From  this  point  he  made  rapid  progress.  No 
hunter  in  western  New  Mexico  killed  more  game ; 
and  he  began  to  take  long  walks,  and  horseback 
rides  of  hundreds  of  miles,  and  to  carry  his  big 
camera  into  all  the  corners  of  the  frontier,  and  to 
make  such  intimate  pictures  of  the  Southwest  as 
no  one  else  has  ever  succeeded  in  getting.  There 
was  a  good  deal  of  hardship  in  it,  and  some  danger. 
Several  of  his  photographs  were  made  at  the  point 
of  the  six-shooter.  He  developed  all  the  plates 
himself  —  often  getting  ugly  cuts  in  the  one- 
handed  work  —  and  made  many  thousand  prints 
a  year. 

He  was  now  beginning  to  get  back  some  of  his 
old-time  vigor  —  thanks  to  determination  and  out- 
doors —  and,  as  for  handiness,  quite  ceased  in  time 
to  miss  the  lost  member.  For  that  matter,  a  great 
many  strangers  never  noticed  his  misfortune,  for 
what  he  could  not  help  himself  in,  he  preferred  to 
go  without.  I  remember  that  in  the  beginning 
he  often  went  without  meat,  if  he  could  not  cut 
it  himself ;  never  would  he  let  any  one  cut  it  for 
him.  But  by  now  he  could  handle  the  toughest 


MY  FE1END    WILL  245 

steak  on  the  frontier,  as  plenty  of  cow-camps  can 
testify. 

A  few  months  later  a  second  but  milder  shock 
threw  him  back  very  seriously ;  and,  quite  as  hard 
to  be  borne,  a  strange  turn  of  fortune  left  him 
without  a  cent  in  the  world. 

I  rather  expected  to  see  him  weaken  then,  but 
he  only  shut  his  lips  and  went  to  work  with  a  cer- 
tain fierceness,  but  no  longer  blindly.  He  had 
already  learned  something,  and,  perhaps,  these 
misfortunes  were  really  a  good  thing ;  for  they 
gave  his  inborn  pugnacity  a  worthy  foe  and  a 
beneficial  struggle.  The  "floor"  was  still  in  his 
head,  but  a  little  more  buoyant,  and,  as  nothing 
else  seemed  feasible,  he  began  literary  work,  a  very 
little  at  a  stretch. 

For  the  next  two  years  my  friend  had  a  pretty 
hard  time.  Any  steady  or  confining  work  was 
not  to  be  thought  of,  and  what  writing  he  could 
do  brought  in  very  small  returns  and  far  between. 
Sometimes  he  had  even  to  borrow  postage  stamps 
to  send  off  his  articles.  But  he  seemed  never  to 
get  blue. 

Between  "  works  "  he  tramped  and  rode  a  great 
deal  in  all  the  wildest  recesses  of  the  frontier, 
made  thousands  of  photographs,  broke  his  own 
broncos  from  wild  beasts  to  horses  that  loved  him, 
cooked  for  himself,  and  was,  in  general,  a  very 
contented  hermit,  as  well  as  a  rather  lively  para- 
lytic. 


246  MY  FRIEND   WILL 

He  had  left  his  Spanish  friends,  to  go  and  live 
in  a  Pueblo  village,  for  the  sake  of  studying  these 
remarkable  Indians.  He  became  very  fond  of  his 
brown  neighbors  and  they  of  him,  but  a  band  of 
Mexican  murderers  and  desperadoes  were  not  so 
friendly.  He  ventured  to  testify  against  them 
for  a  cruel  and  cowardly  assassination,  and  there- 
after, for  more  than  a  year,  he  knew  how  it  felt  to 
be  hunted ;  for  the  ruffians  did  not  care  to  meet 
him  face  to  face,  bat  were  watching  their  chance 
to  strike  from  behind. 

Several  times  in  his  lonely  journeys  he  was  fired 
on  from  ambush,  but  only  keeping  a  sharper  look- 
out, he  went  on  with  his  work.  At  last,  one  Val- 
entine's eve,  they  waylaid  him  at  his  own  door, 
and  so  riddled  him  with  buckshot  that  it  was  a 
miracle  he  ever  recovered.  After  that,  the  super- 
stitious fellows  decided  that  he  must  lead  a 
charmed  life,  and  they  let  him  alone. 

Here,  one  day,  a  letter  came  to  him  with  the 
deadliest  news  a  letter  could  tell.  A  flood  of  fire 
roared  through  his  head,  and  he  rolled  from  his 
chair. 

This  third  paralytic  shock  seemed  to  have 
finished  even  the  cabezudo  (hardhead),  as  the 
Indians  called  him.  It  left  him  unable  to  stand, 
or  to  speak  a  word.  He  could  move  only  by  drag- 
ging himself  along  the  floor  with  his  right  elbow, 
something  like  a  dog  with  three  legs  broken.  He 
was  very  close  to  death  ;  had  he  "  lost  his  grip  " 


MY  FRIEND    WILL  247 

even  for  a  little  while,  it  would  have  been  all  up 
with  him.  But  he  never  did.  He  kept  alive  by 
sheer  obstinacy,  and  to  the  bewilderment  of  the 
doctors. 

While  he  lay  in  the  hospital  in  Santa  Fe,  he 
held  his  unwilling  mind  by  the  throat  and  made 
it  serve  him.  Story  after  story,  verse  after  verse, 
he  forced  out  from  the  aching  and  oppressed  head, 
and  so  kept  from  going  mad.  He  even  wrote  for 
the  humorous  papers  a  great  many  sketches  and 
jingles  and  quips  funny  enough  to  make  the  public 
laugh,  when  he  was  farthest  from  laughing  him- 
self. 

How  he  hated  this  wretched  hulk !  How  his 
eyes  flashed  if  any  stranger  presumed  to  look  at 
him  when  he  was  taken  out  in  the  wheel-chair ! 
Pity  him,  would  they  ?  Well,  he  would  fool  them, 
and  the  doctors,  too  ! 

"  How  are  you,  old  man?  "  asked  a  friend,  dur- 
ing this  crisis.  Will  reached  for  his  scratch-pad, 
tore  off  a  leaf  on  which  a  verse  was  growing,  and 
wrote  : 

"All  right.  And  bigger  than  anything  that 
can  happen  to  me.  All  these  things  are  outside 
my  door,  and  I've  got  the  key.  Thank  you." 

I  came  across  this  paper  afterward  and  saved  it. 
When  I  have  any  bad  luck  myself,  it  rather  does 
me  good  to  look  at  it. 

A  few  weeks  later  he  watched  with  hungry 
eyes  the  goings  and  comings  of  gallant  Perfecto, 


248  MY  FRIEND    WILL 

the  secretary's  horse.  One  day  he  wrote  on  his 
tablet,  the  only  tongue  left  him,  you  know : 

"  Lend  me.     I  want  to  ride."" 

"  You?"  cried  the  secretary.  "  Are  you  crazy? 
What  would  you  do  on  a  horse  like  that  ?  " 

"Put  me  on  and  see,"  answered  the  pencil 
scratches. 

It  took  a  long  argument,  that  spoiled  several 
sheets  of  paper  ;  but  at  last  the  tall  secretary 
lifted  Will  bodily  into  the  saddle,  tucked  his  left 
foot  into  the  stirrup,  and  away  he  went.  Perfecto 
was  fast  and  mettlesome  ;  but,  after  all,  he  was 
nothing  to  the  broncos,  and  no  casualties  occurred. 

Next  day  riding  out  again,  my  friend  met  a 
Mexican  boy,  carrying  a  string  of  trout.  Whew  ! 
Then  his  eyes  did  brighten.  There  was  nothing  on 
earth  he  loved  quite  so  well  as  trout,  ever  since 
the  four-year-old  days  when  gran'pa  carried  him 
along  the  New  Hampshire  trout-brooks  and  talked 
to  him  even  as  he  fished.  Now  Will  reined  up  in 
front  of  the  lad  and  grunted  "  N-h  ?  "  (which  was 
as  near  as  he  could  come  to  articulate  sound), 
jogging  his  chin  forward  at  the  fish. 

The  boy  looked  puzzled,  but  he  was  too  much  a 
boy  to  be  stupid  long.  "  N-h  ?  "  could  mean  only 
"  Where'd  you  get  them  ?  "  So  he  promptly  re- 
plied, "  El  rito  arriba." 

Trout  in  the  Santa  Fe  Canon  ?    Hm  ! 

At  four  o'clock  next  morning  my  friend  and 
Perfecto  were  clattering  past  the  hospital,  and 


Ml-  FRIEND   WILL  249 

something  suspiciously  like  a  rod  stood  whip- 
fashion  in  one  of  the  tall  boots. 

When  the  sun  came  up  they  had  made  ten 
miles.  A  horse  could  go  no  farther  up  the  canon 
for  the  cliffs.  Will  picked  out  a  leafy  spot,  wrig- 
gled about  in  the  saddle  until  he  overbalanced 
and  fell  to  the  ground,  alighting  on  that  hard 
head  and  sound  arm.  He  tied  Perfecto's  reata  to 
a  tree,  and  the  rest  of  the  day  was  dragging  him- 
self over  the  rough  ground,  fishing. 

At  sunset  he  crawled  up  a  half-fallen  tree, 
pulled  Perfecto  to  him,  scrambled  into  the  saddle 
with  infinite  difficulty,  and  rode  home  —  with 
twenty-nine  trout  in  his  basket. 

That  sort  of  thing  was  repeated  daily  for  about 
four  months.  Then  the  helpless  leg  began  to 
have  a  bit  of  life,  so  that  by  taking  hold  of  some- 
thing Will  could  rise.  What  pleased  him  quite 
as  much  was  that  he  became  able  again  to  hum 
the  Spanish  songs  he  had  collected  with  such 
labor,  which  had  seemed  utterly  wiped  out  by  the 
third  shock. 

And  at  last,  one  blessed  autumn  day,  as  he  rode 
up  the  canon  humming  the  air  of 

"  Me  es  precise  el  despedirme," 

he  suddenly  heard  himself  singing  the  words  ! 
Some  Mexicans  who  met  him  there  have  told  me 
that  he  looked  like  a  ghost,  but  he  said  nothing  to 
them.  I  presume  he  wished  to  ;  but  there  was 


250  MY  FRIEND   WILL 

one  at  home  who  had  a  right  to  the  first  words, 
and  he  wheeled  and  rode  back  in  silence. 

"  What  on  earth  makes  his  face  shine  so  ?  " 
queried  the  family  as  he  rode  into  the  yard. 

But  no  one  knew  until  he  wras  safe  in  the  room 
with  the  One  and  burst  like  a  bomb  with  : 

"  I  can  talk  !  " 

After  that  the  tide  turned.  He  came  in  time 
to  walk  and  speak  as  well  as  ever,  though  the 
dwindled  left  arm  still  hung  lifeless  at  his  side. 

He  returned  to  the  pueblo,  to  his  hunting  and 
exploring,  his  making  of  pictures  and  breaking  of 
broncos.  He  even  built  a  couple  of  log-houses 
for  friends  who  had  taken  a  crazy  notion  to  plant 
a  home  on  the  top  of  a  teu-thousand-foot  peak ; 
felling  the  trees  himself,  peeling,  hewing,  and 
placing  them,  making  tin  roofs,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing.  His  writings  found  a  market  now,  so 
the  miseries  of  poverty  disappeared. 

Then  a  very  great  change  came  into  his  life  — 
one  good  fortune  that  he  did  not  hew  out  for  him- 
self. A  pair  of  very  beautiful  blue  eyes,  that  had 
been  first  to  bend  over  him  when  he  was  paralyzed 
for  the  third  time,  that  had  watched  him  through 
the  pale  days  after  that  midnight  shooting,  came 
to  be  the  daily  light  of  the  humble  adobe,  where 
he  had  taken  care  of  himself  over  two  years. 

Two  heads  certainly  are  better  than  one,  in 
such  a  case.  Under  the  new  order  of  things  the 
hermit's  den  had  a  great  transformation.  Will 


MY  FRIEND    WILL  251 

tore  out  walls,  made  windows,  planed  and  sawed 
and  hammered  and  squared  like  one  possessed  — 
till  the  one  hand,  what  with  blisters  and  cracks, 
was  a  sight  to  be  seen  —  and  the  Lady  of  the  Eyes 
seemed  to  make  everything  fall  into  its  due  place. 
Soon  the  dark  old  adobe  had  become  a  home,  still 
humble,  but  very  comfortable,  and  doubly  dear 
because  they  had  made  it  all  themselves. 

That  summer  Will  and  his  girl-wife  started  out 
for  a  long,  long  journey  on  their  pet  horses,  and 
for  most  of  six  months  were  ransacking  the  out- 
of-the-way  corners  of  New  Mexico.  He  had  be- 
come really  powerful  again.  The  right  arm, 
from  doing  double  duty,  had  grown  an  inch 
around  the  biceps,  and  seemed  to  have  added  to 
its  own  strength  that  of  the  lost  left. 

On  the  5th  of  July  they  were  halting  with  some 
of  the  dear  old  Spanish  friends. 

"  What  a  lovely  day  it  has  been,  dear  !  "  said 
his  wife,  kneeling  by  Will's  chair,  and  she  added 
some  complimentary  remarks,  which  I  am  not  at 
all  sure  my  friend  deserved.  But  wives  of  the 
right  kind  are  apt  to  see  a  great  many  more 
virtues  than  any  one  else  can  ;  and  husbands,  I 
fear,  are  not  always  severely  modest  about  accept- 
ing these  estimates.  At  any  rate,  instead  of  dis- 
claiming the  compliment,  Will  looked  quite  happy 
over  it. 

But  just  then  his  wife  saw  him  turn  white  as  a 
sheet,  while  his  eyes  stared  as  if  in  horror,  and 


252  MY  FRIEND   WILL 

she  caught  him  just  in  time  to  keep  him  from  the 
floor. 

For  a  few  minutes  there  was  great  consternation 
in  the  room,  and  then  a  rapid  change  ;  and  Span- 
ish friends  and  husband  and  wife  were  all  tangled 
in  a  muddle  of  hugs  and  tears  and  exclamations. 

And  what  do  you  imagine  had  scared  him  so  ? 

Merely  this  —  his  unthinking  eyes  had  taken 
note  that  his  hand  was  stroking  his  wife's  hair. 
Well?  Yes,  but  it  was  the  left  hand  — the 
withered  arm  that  in  three  years  and  seven 
months  to  that  very  day  had  never  moved  a 
muscle,  nor  had  a  sensation  ! 

The  little  clot  of  blood  in  the  brain  had  wholly 
moved  on,  at  last,  and  left  my  friend  a  well  man 
again. 

He  will  never  be  quite  so  powerful  as  ten  years 
back,  but  he  is  strong  enough  for  all  practical 
purposes  —  and  when  I  found  him,  not  long  ago, 
in  South  America,  on  the  top  of  a  peak  over 
nineteen  thousand  feet  high,  I  concluded  that  he 
was,  indeed,  "  worth  several  dead  men  yet,"  as  he 
said. 

All  this  was  some  time  ago,  and  nowadays  every- 
thing seems  to  go  swimmingly  with  my  friend. 
He  is,  perhaps,  about  as  hard-headed  as  ever,  but 
he  has  found  good  uses  for  persistence.  And  he 
learned  it  all  in  those  cruel  years  in  New  Mexico, 
as  he  himself  admits. 

"  The  great  lesson  it  taught  me,"  he  says,  "  is 


MY  FRIEND   WILL  253 

that  man  was  meant  to  be,  and  ought  to  be, 
stronger  and  more  than  anything  that  can  happen 
to  him.  Circumstances,  'fate,'  'luck,'  are  all  out- 
side, and  if  he  cannot  always  change  them,  he 
can  always  beat  them.  If  it  had  not  worked  its 
way  into  my  broken  brain  that  Captain  I  held  the 
fort ;  that  the  only  key  was  my  own  volition,  and 
that  unless  I  wilfully  surrendered,  nothing  could 
take  the  citadel,  I  should  have  been  dead  long 
ago.  If  I  couldn't  have  what  I  wanted,  I  decided 
to  want  what  I  had  —  and  that  simple  philosophy 
saved  me.  Yes,  and  it  has  turned  my  most  ter- 
rible misfortunes  into  good,  right  along.  My 
paralysis,  for  instance,  was  the  luckiest  thing  that 
ever  befell  me.  It  not  only  turned  me  to  my 
proper  work,  but  it  taught  rue  what  fj^jvas  good 
for,  and  how  to  make  the  best  of  nrjcself .  And 
but  for  it  I  never  should  have  founinAem"  — 
and  he  looks  across  to  his  smiling  wife  fiS&  a  very 
young  lady  —  who,  by  the  shape  of  Iwr  small 
skull,  is  apt  to  be  as  cabezudo  as  her  fatntjt^ 

I  have  taken  these  experiences  of  Wilrs  a  good 
deal  to  heart,  seeing  how  much  good  they  have 
done  him  ;  and  you  can  understand  why  I  do  not 
look  at  paralytics  or  other  unfortunates  as  some 
people  do.  Whether  they  are  "good  for  any- 
thing" to  the  world  or  themselves,  depends  on 
what  they  think  about  it.  Will  was  as  badly  off 
as  the  worst  of  them,  and  he  continued  to  be  a 
decidedly  active  and  not  wholly  useless  person. 


254  MY  FRIEND   WILL 

But  perhaps  he  will  object  to  my  free  use  of 
him  to  point  a  moral? 

N — no,  I'm  quite  sure  not  —  he  rarely  finds  fault 
with  what  I  do.  In  fact,  such  close  friends  are 
we  that  I  sometimes  affectionately  call  him  "  My 
Will." 


University  of  California  Library 
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